#i just work here. sir this is a pharmacy. if you would take your cough drops and step into the back with my coworker here....

[omnomnb]

left to rot at bottom of drafts..... i have decided to set it free to the woods..... fare thee well little post

[mydear-corinthian]

love potion no. 9

sypnosis - attempting to make doctor jonathan crane be in love with you using your love potion

pairing - jonathan crane x reader (pharmacist!)

warnings - SMUT +18, p in v, fingering, creampie, jealousy, reader attempting to poison crane

notes - rushed & based of my fav song, divider by cafekitsune

main masterlist | cillian murphy masterlist

You've been working as the hospital's pharmacist for a while now. The experience was a fifty-fifty. How strange to work under the walls where high-profile criminals are admitted in the city of Gotham.

One day, while you were working on your regular evening shift, a tall man wearing rectangular glasses and a black suit let out a small cough as he approached the window of the pharmacy's counter. Setting your pen down, you looked at this man. Your gaze met his blue eyes. You noticed how his hair was neatly styled.

There was a moment of silence before you brushed up your thoughts. "Can I help you with anything, sir?"

"I'm here to get the prescription I need."

"And what's your name, sir?"

"Doctor Jonathan Crane."

Your eyes widened, and the pen in your fingers dropped as you heard the name.

That's Jonathan fucking Crane?

He looked younger than you expected to be. You thought that the head psychologist was old so he's the only psychologist in the asylum allowed to prescribe medication.

"I— Please give me a few seconds to find it, Doctor Crane," you stuttered, immediately standing up and wengoing the back of the cashier to where all the anti-depressants and anti-psychotic medicines were stored.

"Hurry up. I don't have enough time to wait," he replied, rolling his eyes out of irritation.

After a few minutes, you finally saw a brown paper bag with his name on it. You immediately grabbed it and then stapled it to ensure that the medicines were safely secured. You walked up to the desk, placing the paper box on top of it in front of Jonathan.

"Thank you," he said, looking at the metallic nameplate on your uniform. "Miss (L/n)."

After that first interaction, he has been meeting you up again in the pharmacy. Taking his usual prescription medicines. After a few more visits, he started to make a few more chats rather than greetings. Asking you how you were, when's your schedule, etc.,

During those visits, you cannot help but feel something. The way you blush every time he compliments you. The way his delicate fingers meet yours when you give him the medicines. Or the way how he just looks fucking good.

One day, you waited for Jonathan to grab his prescription, so you waited. It's been a few hours and no Doctor Crane appeared. Taking a deep sigh, you continued to do your inventory as you waited for him to come.

After a few hours of waiting, a woman knocks on the glass of the pharmacy's counter. You greeted, letting out a soft smile despite being sad for not seeing the psychologist yet.

"May I help you, ma'am?" you asked.

"I'm here to get Doctor Crane's prescription."

Your ears perked up as you heard his name. Your back stiffens as your eyes widen. Why is she here? Why isn't Jonathan here?

"I'm sorry, ma'am; who are you?" you asked in confusion. "I'm sure Doctor Crane doesn't want his prescription medicines to be taken."

The women laughed at your question and your eyebrows met together.

"Oh, I'm his assistant, silly. Maybe his soon-to-be girlfriend? Not sure yet."

What?

Your stomach churned. A mix of sadness and anger rolled up your mind. You didn't know that Jonathan was interested in anyone. You thought that you would have a chance with him. You felt ill.

You stormed out right away, grabbing the papaer box with his name on it. Putting it in front of her harshly.

Forcing on a smile, you said, "Here's the prescription, ma'am."

"Thank you." the woman replied, grabbing the paper box before walking away.

Jealousy is buried all over your body. Bur you cannot help but feel insecure. She was indeed pretty. For sure Jonathan likes her too.

But you also felt mostly anger and jealousy.

As soon as your shift ended, you hurriedly grabbed your bag and went straight to your small apartment. Turning the doorknob, you entered your apartment and removed your shoe. Grabbing a pen and paper from your cabinet, you wrote different formulas for making something for him.

A love potion.

It does sound silly but you were so obsessed with him and you want him that badly. You felt like he was yours and you were his.

The remaining days stayed the same. The same woman grabbed Jonathan's medicines. The same anger and jealousy never left you. You continued in your potion, grabbing all the hallucinogens that you needed from the rmaprimacyou will spend your night making it.

After a week, you finally finished creating the spray. You choose to make the smell the same as your perfume; to let him know that he is yours.

Arriving at the Asylum, you set your bag behind your chair as you start to do your work. There were a lot of customers that day so you kept yourself occupied.

Finally, his assistant arrived.

She approached the glass with the same cheeky smile. "Jonathan's prescription, please."

Fuck, are they in the first-name business now?

Straightening your back, you said, "I think I'll give it to Doctor Crane myself."

The assistant's head turned to your direction with a face in disbelief. She placed her phone down.

"Why?" she asked.

"Doctor Crane requested a new medicine and it contains rare chemicals and it needs to be taken care of properly. This is the last medicine in our inventory so I suggest I'll be the one to give it to him." you lied.

"Fine. I don't care with whatever medicine he wants anyway. Your pharmacists can take catfish that. I'll just go take a quick dinner break, anyways." she replied, rolling her eyes before she walked away while busy typing on her phone.

As she walked away, you let out a sigh of relief. You grabbed the paper box at the back and then the spray you placed on a small glass sprayer in your bag, hiding it in your pocket.

"Hey, Adeline, I'll just give this medicine to Doctor Crane; he requested it," you said, showing him the paper box with his name.

"Yeah sure, no problem. I'll cover the cashier for you." your friend replied.

Letting out a 'thank you', you exited the pharmacy. You didn't know where his clinic was so you tried finding his name on the big board on the entrance of the hospital that was filled with all the doctors and their clinic rooms in the Asylum. You got up the elevator and pressed the buttons. You're confident with this. You checked the formula all over again and gave you the same result but you cannot help but feel how your heartbeat thumped aggressively.

It will work.

You went out as soon as the elevator doors opened. The whole floor was quiet and there were only a few people there, mainly janitors cleaning up. You walked while looking at the small paper in your hand where you wrote his room number.

You stopped your tracks as soon as you saw his name on a sign on a black door.

Dr. Jonathan Crane, M.D, Psy.D, J. Crim. Psychol.

Letting out a deep breath, your fingers opened the door. The entrance was small. A long cushion was on the right while the assistant/secretary's table was on the left— which was empty. There was another door in front of you, which you think is his office.

You knocked three times on the door, fixing your uniform and your hair. You gripped your pocket tightly, securing it.

Your eyes met him as he opened the door. His outfit looked the same. His hairstyles led properly. His rectangular glasses shined. Jonathan's eyes then met yours.

"(Y/n)? What are you doing here?" he asked, not closing the door.

Fuck, he looks hot.

"I— I'm here for the prescription you needed, Doctor Crane," you replied, handing out the paper box with his name on your hand. "Your.. secretary said that she was busy so I decided to just give it to you instead of myself."

Jonathan's eyes still locking yours. "Oh. Well, thank you, (Y/n). Do you want to come inside?" he offered, taking the prescription in your hands gently, his fingers touching yours.

You felt a strike on your spine at the sudden short touch. Jonathan's touch was gentle and his hands felt soft.

"O-Okay.." you replied.

Jonathan opened his door widely, letting you come inside first and then him. His office was twice as big as the outside. His certificates hanging on the wall. A small scarecrow figure is displayed on the black shelves.

"Please, sit." Jonathan offered.

Nodding, you sat down. Your hand still clutching tightly to your pockets.

"How have you been?" he asked, leaning against his wooden table while you sat in front of him.

"I'm fine, Doctor Cra—"

"Jonathan. Jonathan is alright." he interrupted.

"Oh, right.." you nodded. "I'm fine, Jonathan. Lots of customers but still doing great. And you?"

"Same way either," he replied, removing his glasses as he looked at you and fuck, you find it so hot.

"So, your secretary.." you brought up the topic. "Is she your.. girlfriend?"

Your question made him laugh. Putting his glasses on he replied, "What makes you think that?"

"Well, she told me that she's your soon-to-be girlfriend so you know.." your hands never leaving your pocket.

Jonathan notices how your hands never leave your pocket. His eyes trying to know what you're hiding inside it.

"What's in your pocket?" he asked, changing the topic.

Fuck.

You sighed, giving up. You stood up and grabbed the spray in your pocket, spraying on his face a couple of puffs. You let out a relief.

His eyes squinted, attempting to rub the liquid off his face.

"How are you feeling, Jonathan?" you asked, walking towards him closely; your face getting closer to his as you trickled your fingers onto his soft face before letting your lips meet his. His hands gripped your waist softly as he kissed back, savoring each other's taste.

He finally opened his eyes and let out another laugh. You let go of him immediately, you were confused. It didn't work? But you were sure that the formula was right. You had the right chemicals. You had the best hallucinogenic chemicals in the city.

Unless..

"Let me guess.. love potion?" he asked, his lips painting a smirk on his face as he looked at you.

You panicked. "I— Why isn't it working?"

Your heels stepped backward while he moved forward. Your heart started to thump aggressively; you were panicking.

"Why isn't it working indeed." Jonathan's eyes grow wide as his lips curve into a smirk. "Well, there are only two options. Either your little experience was an absolute fail or I'm already in love with you."

The words coming out of your mouth left you gasping. He's right. There were only two options.

"But how about your secretary?" you asked.

Jonathan began walking much closer to you until both of your faces were inches apart; your waist hitting his desk. You can be sure that he can hear how loud your heartbeat is. You can smell his strong men's perfume from his neck and his wrists. You can see how ravishing his blue eyes really are.

"It's you. It's always been you." Jonathan confessed, his eyes getting soft as he looked at you.

After a few visits from the pharmacy, Jonathan started to take an interest in you. He observes how you tilt a strand of your hair to the back of your ear whenever he compliments you. How your things are always the same color which he thinks is your favorite. How your ears perked up whenever he brings small conversations about your expertise— medicines.

Jonathan's soft hands found their way to your hips, securing them; tthemknowow you were his. Your lower body sat on top of his black wooden table. His, then, lips crashed into yours again but delicately. You were shocked by the sudden confession and the kiss but you ignored it anyway; you kissed him back, gripping a fistful of his hair as the kiss deepened. The way his tongue met yours made you wet. He explored your lips and tongue, allowing him to savor your taste leaving a trail of kisses down your neck before sucking it, making you suddenly moan in pleasure.

"Ah yes," you moaned but immediately covered your mouth when you noticed how loud it was.

"Don't worry, love," he said in between kisses, continuing to mark your neck. "The whole room is soundproof. Scream all you want, doll."

The wetness in your panties became worse. Your breath hitched as he sucked that spot in your neck. His hands began to trail down to your thighs, his fingers tracing it. The tent in his pants began to be visible.

"Please— touch me, Jonathan.."

Jonathan's fingers now trailed in between your thighs, toying with your clothed clit under your skirt. The touch sends shivers down your spine. He can feel how wet you are and your white lacey panties.

His lips began to paint another sluggish smirk. "So wet for me already?" he teased.

"Please, Johnny. I need you," you cried in pleasure as his fingers started to massage your clit from your panties.

Jonathan removed your panties before throwing them off the floor. The cold air touching your sensitive cunt made you shiver. His thumb began to rub it slowly and then his pace fastened making you bob your head backward, your eyes closing as you felt the pleasure down there. The wet noise echoed all over the room. He then started to insert two of his fingers with no warning making you moaaloudud.

"Fuck!— Yes, Jonathan!"

You moaned as his finger hit that spongy spot there. Your toyed pussy clenching around his fingers. His thumb circling figure eights on your clit. Back arching, your legs squirmed.

Jonathan's fast pace made you feel the knot in your stomach tighten, feeling more wet. Your moans were getting louder and louder.

"Jon.." you moaned. "I'm close."

"Go on," he whispered, you can feel his hot breath on your neck. "Cum on my fingers."

Jonathan's pace quickened until your orgasm flowed. His fingers were coated with your white juices. Jonathan brought up his fingers to his tongue, licking it clean as he tasted your juice.

"Mhm, sweet," he smirked.

Even though you just came from your orgasm, you still have that desire for more. You want him to take you. You want to feel him.

Jonathan gave you a small sweet kiss before his hands found their way to his black trousers, unzipping them; his erection can be clear through his boxers.

"You want me that bad, huh?" he teased. "I think you're the one who drank that potion of yours."

His voice was deep, husky, and raspy which made you want him more. He removed his black blazer, leaving him with his white long-sleeved polo and a tie. You began to unzip your skirt as well, tossing it on the floor. He kisses you again deeply.

As soon as he removed his boxers, his cock sprung out. He was bigger than you expected and veiny. Jonathan began to align his cock to your dripping and aching hole and then inserted himself fully.

"Fuuuckkk—" he groaned as he felt your tight walls take him. "You're so tight."

You gasped as you felt his length take you; a loud hiss escaped from your lips.

"Are you okay? Does it hurt?" he genuinely asked as he noticed you hissed.

Shaking your head, you gripped his broad shoulders. "No— I'm fine. Just keep going."

Jonathan started to slowly thrust inside you, taking no rush which you appreciated. He was gentle. Your legs locked his hips as you embraced his shoulders with your arms.

"I've been dreaming about this since—" he let out a low groan as his hips moved closer to you . "..the day I saw you. Fuck, you're beautiful."

His thrust quickened, making you moan. Your tits were bouncing at every move he makes. Your eyes were completely shut, your head rolling back as you savored the pleasure Jonathan gave you. The way his tip hit your G-spot made you scream a series of the most pornographic moans you've ever done.

"Oh my god! Yes yes yes!"

A smirk on his face was formed when he heard your lovely moans in his ears. Your moans are probably his favorite note. His baby blue eyes met yours when you looked at him. The way he was still wearing his sexy glasses made you blush more.

"You feel so good, my love," he said in between his thrusts. "Fuck— you're mine, okay?"

"Yes, Johnny! I'm—fuck— yours!"

All you felt was nothing but love and ecstasy. Every thrust, every moan, every kiss, and every touch coming from him makes you feel weak and pleasurable.

The table you guys were fucking on aggressively moves at every movement the both of you do. His files, ball pens, and other items fell from the table but none of you minded as your business was focused somewhere else.

A feeling of wetness and and closeless throb in your stomach. Jonathan abusing your sensitive spot with his fat cock didn't help. Your moans and his grunts synchronize together as the both of you feel close.

"I'm gonna cum, love. Where do you want it?"

"Inside, please! Fuck! Fill me up, please please please!"

"My princess wants me to fill her up, yeah? Alright then."

After a few more aggressive thrusts, you felt your orgasm came. His cock was now stained with your cum as he continued.

"Gonna cum now, doll. Take it, baby. Yes yes yes!" Jonathan groaned as he finally came inside you. His dick spurts out his hot white cum inside your walls. Jonathan, then, pulled out; a mix of his load spilled out in your hole.

"Fuck, look at that," he said, watching it dripped to his black table.

Jonathan gave you another kiss but this time, it was passionate. His lips let out a series of compliments which made you flustered and blush at the same time.

"I guess I'll be the one who'll give you your medicines now," you teased.

"I look forward to that, my love."

After dressing up again, Jonathan guided you to the door, not wanting you to be late for your shift. As soon as he opened the door, the both of you were greeted by his assistant who just came in.

"Doctor Crane and... Miss (L/n)... Didn't expect you to visit here." the female assistant said, clearly not expecting you at all.

"Natalia, clear out my schedule this Friday. I'm going on a date with Miss (L/n) here." Jonathan said, making you blush at the sudden invitation.

His assistant's face turned into a frown and anger but tried to let out a fake smile before you and Jonathan left his clinic.

"Your assistant must be sad that I'm going out with you, Doctor Crane."

"Oh, baby... I'm only yours."

[sanest-bsd-delegate]

hello! I hope you are having an amazing day <333 if not troublesome, can I request Dazai, Chuuya and Ranpo taking care of a sick s/o? also if not alr taken, can I be 🌺 anon ? *\(^o^)/*

Sneeze for good luck

Headcanon: where your boyfriend takes care of your sick self ft Dazai, Chuuya, Ranpo Masterlist Please look at the request rules in masterlist before requesting. Tysm anon for the request! Hope this doesn't disappoint you :) do request more if you wish!!

Dazai:

Both of you are sick. But here's the catch, You are physical sick and he is mentally sick.

How did you get sick if you ask me? Some stupid Idea arose inside your brain to eat ice in winters.

Guess who's sick and sneezing? YOU

My guy just came back from work to see his Belladonna sneezing and coughing 

He would totally make fun of your situation

“Why belladonna,” he would say, audibly gasping “ couldn't you wait for me? We both could have had a ice eating challenge”

But nevertheless, he will just smile a little seeing you sneeze.

He will cling on you. Even if you are high on fever.

"Dazai, get away I am sick" "Well! that makes a perfect scenario to die of hyperpyrexia"

BRO!?? LIKE THE VOCAB HE WILL USE??

"Y/N my sweet belladonna, drink this, acetaminophen, it will help with your fever" "How do you even know this?"

"Drink it" "No" BRO DRINK IT YOU ARE SICK!

He will give you a lot of cuddles, which may result in something

"I didn't even recover well and you are high on fever"

Nevertheless you had to call Kunikida to bring medicines and food for you both.

Chuuya:

Well, for once we know how rich he is.

He will suggest you take to the best doctors to cure your sickness. But....you just want your boyfriend's care tbh.

What's the sickness you say? Well, you decided it was fun to overdrink one of his most expensive wines along with expired chips  just because you won against puny teenagers in Roblox Piggy.

Bro was angry at first, but we all know how much of a sweetheart he is, so he just sighed and forgave you well maybe he just might have stopped buying you Roblox for another month

He would go on a panik  mode, whenever you puck in the bathroom

If you own majestic long hair, He would be the one holding it as you vomit.

“Maybe I shouldn't have drank that much” “Maybe you should start learning the art of common sense.”

We all know he would deny not being in the same room as you, but in the end you and him will be in the bed, cuddling together.

He would make sure you intake stomach friendly food and check your temperature once in a while.

He even takes off work for a week just to heal you back up.

“Chuuya hug me” “No your sick” “🥺🥺”

Dw, you made sure he hugs you (that is you not letting him go by hugging him from the back.)

Ranpo:

I don't even know where to start. But it did end with him being independent for the first time.

It was like you were a single mother of an ADHD kid, and you happened to be sick.

“Y/N Why are you sick?” Like sir how would anyone even reply to that?

“Y/N!! I am hungry!”  “Take the chips from the cabinet Ranpo”

When he opens his majestic ‘closed glued most of the time’ eyes, he in fact sees you are sick. 

Baby boy just hugs you and apologies for disturbing you.

Look at him! He tried to cook Candies?

Yeah he didn't risk cooking after that.

“Y/N, don't worry you will be fine! These coughs and sneeze are for good luck ^-^” “Yeah” Coughs x♾️ 

You had to force him to buy medicines at the pharmacy, because well, no one will be awake at the middle of 2am when you are cosplaying as Akutagawa

“Mr. Pharmacy guy, Can I get those Vicks candies?” “You mean these cough drops?” “Yes”  “I am not paid enough to handle these teenagers”

He anyways Naruto runs back home to find you asleep. (Guess you really didn't depend on him huh?)

Well you did get a lot of headpats from Ranpo, but we all know he would just maintain a distance from you knowing you are asleep.

Anon: can I be 🌺 anon ? Absolutely! Glad to have you on board as the first emoji anon 💗

[citizen-l]

02. Window

Chanyeol never thought he'd be under someone's flat throwing tiny rocks at their window. Never in a million years did he imagine himself to be in this position. Sure he did some crazy things in life, but never something as cringe-inducing as this. In broad daylight too. Jesus. 

"Hey!" someone called him and Chanyeol looked back to find Officer Joey looking at him with narrow eyes and creased brows. "You're the kid from last night, aren't you?"

"Hi, yeah," Chanyeol said awkwardly. 

"Why are you throwing stones?"

"No one's answering the buzzer?"

"Ever heard of calling?"

Yeah well, Joey, I would, but I have their phone with me. And while we're talking, Joey, fuck you. God, Chanyeol wanted to scream at the ridiculousness of it. 

Chanyeol never would have forgotten to return Baekhyun's phone that he pocketed in case of an emergency just that morning before taking him to get stitches. Never would have under normal circumstances. But getting a too sweet goodbye strawberry kiss was not a normal circumstance. Chanyeol could feel his ears getting warm and red, and Joey was still there staring at him. 

"I have something that I desperately need to give Baekhyun," Chanyeol said. Judging by the familiar way Baekhyun had talked to Joey before, maybe Joey would leave him alone if he realized Chanyeol wasn't a threat to Baekhyun. "Calling didn't help, and I'm pretty sure Baekhyun really needs this. So, yeah…"

Honestly, Chanyeol would have just found Sehun and given the phone to him and been done with it. But Sehun was MIA with Junmyeon. And Chanyeol hadn't had a chance until this late in the afternoon to come by and hand over the phone. But he'd be lying if he said he kinda maybe didn't want to check if Baekhyun was alright. Oh God, what if he's lying unconscious on the floor again? 

"At this hour, he's probably at some rehearsal, hop in," Joey gestured towards the passenger side. 

Chanyeol was having a hard time digesting what was happening. How did he end up riding shotgun in a police vehicle? How did Joey know so much about Baekhyun's schedule when even Sehun was of no help? What the hell was going on with Chanyeol's life, good lord?

Joey dropped at one of the smaller auditoriums east side of the campus. Chanyeol had never ventured this way, never had any cause to. 

"Tell him I said hi," Joey smirked before leaving Chanyeol there. He probably got off on how shook Chanyeol was. 

The huge double doors opened up to a lobby. The signs said dressing rooms were to the left, and to the right were the rows of identical doors leading to the actual auditorium. For audiences. Chanyeol decided it was best to check there first since he could hear voices and music coming from one of the half opened doors. 

The only auditorium Chanyeol had ever been to on campus was on the north end, the one where the big seminars are usually held. This one was different, definitely not for academic or corporate lectures. The lights, the stage, even the seating was different. This was made for performing musicals like the one a dozen or so people were rehearsing. 

"Oh woe, to be trapped in this age…" a woman wailed dramatically while lying flat on the stage. 

"Oh, what is this I see! Some faerie-like creature come for me?"

Someone sang, another voice joined with a deep baritone that sounded somewhat like Baekhyun, but Chanyeol had never heard him sing before. 

"Hello hello, fair man," someone said. 

"Ah! My prince has come to save me, joy be!" shouted a guy as large as Chanyeol but lankier.

That was when he realized they were all talking about him. A bunch of theatre kids finding a new person interrupting their rehearsal, of course they would be dramatic about it. What did Chanyeol expect? 

"How can I help you, sir?" a brunette girl asked with a fake British accent. 

Someone started singing about waiting for him all her life as he went down the stairs towards the stage where he could spot a guy with a bandaged hand and hoped it was Baekhyun. He was wearing a hat so Chanyeol couldn't clearly see the cotton candy fluff on his head. 

A guy in suspenders and lipstick stopped him by starting to dance suggestively and singing a Burlesque song. God this bunch was loud. Two others came around him, the brunette and another woman with red and white streaks in her black hair and the three started a whole number with impressive impromptu harmonies and suggestive body rolls. 

"Chanyeol?" he heard Baekhyun's surprised voice from the stage. 

There he was, hat in hand, pink hair almost glowing under the harsh light of the stage, eyes squinting to see Chanyeol awkwardly standing as three people sang some jazz song and moved their pelvis in a way that Chanyeol would rather not witness at the moment. 

"Hey, hi," he used Baekhyun's interruption as his getaway card and moved around the dancing trio. "Sorry for barging in like this, just wanted to return this."

Baekhyun jumped straight down from the stage seeing his phone. Chanyeol was momentarily shocked, and the worry he felt in that instant thinking something bad might happen to Baekhyun jumping down from so high nearly rendered him speechless. 

"Oh my God, thank you! I've been looking everywhere for it. I really thought I lost it during my steakout yesterday."

Stakeout?

"Nah I took it with me when I took you to the pharmacy, forgot about it afterwards."

"Well, thank you for bringing it back all the way here."

And then Baekhyun was hugging him, arms around Chanyeol's shoulders, hot breath on the side of his neck, Baekhyun stood on tiptoes and Chanyeol didn't know what to do with his own hands. 

"Why can't I get a man like that?" a girl sighed from one side. 

"Wait, is that the guy? He really carried Baek… I mean I can see he's got…"

"Holy shit, he's real?!"

"Of course he's real, Minseok," Baekhyun said and he let go of Chanyeol. 

"Uh, I should go…" Chanyeol said awkwardly. 

"What? Wait, I haven't done anything to thank you," Baekhyun said. 

But you did, Chanyeol thought. You kissed me. That was a thank you, no? What was the kiss about? Why the fuck did Baekhyun kiss him? God, Chanyeol was going out of his mind trying to figure it out. 

"That's okay, you don't have to…"

"Nonsense, let me just get changed and then I'll treat you to something delicious."

"Hopefully not something too delicious," someone said. 

"Don't forget about the party tonight," someone else said. 

But Chanyeol couldn't focus on all the things everyone was saying. He was finally focused on Baekhyun's outfit. Suspenders, a dirty-white pirate shirt tucked haphazardly into leather pants.

"Be a little more discreet ogling his ass, will you?" The guy with pretty eyes, Minseok whispered near and Chanyeol nearly choked on his spit. 

"Oh leave him be," Another guy, the one who was singing with Baekhyun said, he had a cat-like smile. "He's too whipped anyway, let him enjoy."

Jesus. Chanyeol wanted out of here. It wasn't that these guys were half bad. Quite the opposite, Chanyeol found them sort of endearing with the way they passionately rehearsed their lines, danced and sang even without an instructor guiding them, on a Saturday. But taking jabs at Chanyeol and laughing at his "whipped" nature was unsettling him. He was not whipped for Baekhyun, he was just still stuck on a stupid kiss. 

Chanyeol sighed, he couldn't blame anyone. Not these guys, they were just having fun. If anyone, Chanyeol should blame Sehun. Now that guy was whipped, for Junmyeon. A little too much. If it wasn't for Sehun, Chanyeol wouldn't have been temporarily homeless and had to spend the night at Baekhyun's. 

"Stop teasing him, people. See you later," Baekhyun sang as he came back dressed in a baggy sweater and loose camo pants tucked into his boots. He tugged Chanyeol's shirt sleeve to follow him out. 

"Don't forget to bring dessert," someone shouted. 

"Bring Prince Charming as well, while you're at it!"

"Sorry about that, they tend to be a little rowdy during the weekend," Baekhyun said. 

They sat facing each other in a booth at a quaint little café/bakery just outside of their main campus. Chanyeol had never even noticed it, but Baekhyun said they have the best baked goods he ever had. 

"You don't hate sweets, do you?" Baekhyun asked, a little alarmed. 

Chanyeol looked at him like he was crazy, thinking back on how he was seconds away from sucking the taste of freaking strawberry milk from Baekhyun's tongue. Chanyeol coughed and shook his head. He was fine with sweets. Their coffee and chocolate covered donuts came soon after. Chanyeol had to admit they were good, had the potential to ruin his body and all his hard work, but he could indulge on occasion. 

"How did you find me anyway?" Baekhyun asked while licking chocolate off his fingers. 

"Joey," Chanyeol said and tried not to stare. "I was actually at your apartment, he found me and said you'd be at rehearsal. He even gave me a ride. He said hi."

"Ah, makes sense."

"How are you so close to the officer, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Oh he used to date my mom, didn't work out though. But I like him, we occasionally meet up because he has two dogs and I'm desperately trying to convince him to let me adopt them."

The way he said it made Chanyeol laugh. And that was surprising because Chanyeol doesn't usually feel this comfortable with people so quickly. Well, maybe it had something to do with last night's fiasco. And the kiss. Fuck.

Chanyeol wanted to ask about it, so bad. But it felt weird. And awkward. And Chanyeol wasn't sure he could ask with a straight face. It bothered him. Not in a negative way. More like, he couldn't figure it out and it was irritating. It was like not knowing what that sound was at the back of a well-produced song and obsessing over it for days and even weeks until finally it was clear. 

"What are you doing tonight?" Baekhyun asked. 

"Uh, nothing much, I guess," Chanyeol sipped his coffee. 

"How do you feel about a social gathering? Dinner will be on me."

"The party your friends were talking about?"

"It's not much of a party, really. Just some friends hanging out together."

"Well, I don't think I'd fit in, and I don't wanna be a bother among friends," Chanyeol said. 

"Well, as humble as that sounds, I insist. And you heard Jongin, they want you there. They wouldn't have asked so directly in front of you if they didn't."

Was it worth it? Should Chanyeol give up another night at his apartment to spend time with Baekhyun and his eccentric friends? 

"Wear something white," Baekhyun said. 

"Wait, I haven't decided whether I'd go."

"I've decided for you, it'll be fun. I'll pick you up at 8."

"How's your hand?" Chanyeol decided to change the topic. Maybe he can get away with the party thing later with a better excuse. 

"Hurts a little, but good otherwise. Nearly got plastered under a ladder while rehearsing, but narrowly escaped."

"Does that often happen?" Chanyeol was more alarmed than he probably should have been. 

"Nah, I just got distracted. But anyway, I gotta go make a cake. Oh hey, I should have your number."

Half an hour later, Chanyeol was shifting through his wardrobe looking for white clothes. He had none. He regretted ever agreeing to go to the party, which, by the way, he never explicitly agreed to. 

His phone buzzed with a text from "Kyoong", Baekhyun had insisted, with an impromptu photo of his doing a finger heart, that that be his nickname on Chanyeol's phone. God knows why Chanyeol agreed. 

"Be there in ten." The text read. Great. No way to back out now. 

"I kind of have an issue." Chanyeol texted back. It felt like a weak excuse to get out of going to the party, even though this was a genuine issue. 

And then Baekhyun was calling him and Chanyeol nearly dropped his phone. He finally saw the pout Baekhyun sneakily did which wasn't noticeable with the small icon. Jesus. 

"Hello?"

"Hey, sorry, started driving so I couldn't text back. Don't worry, Bluetooth, and I'm almost at your place. What's the issue?"

"I'm going to hang up and we can talk when you get here."

"Wai-" 

Chanyeol did as he said and waited until Baekhyun was knocking at his door. 

"Okay, glad that you're concerned about me dying on the road but never hang up on me, bothers the hell out of me. So, now, what's the issue?"

"I don't have anything white," Chanyeol said.

"Your roommate? Borrow something of his."

"I don't know if you met Junmyeon or not, but we're sort of not the same size."

"Well, I don't think Sehun owns anything remotely classy either."

That's when Chanyeol finally registered what Baekhyun was wearing. A high collared Victorian shirt with ruffles on the sleeves and neck, a few streaks of shimmering thread on his chest and shoulders. A corset. Loose breeches tucked into knee-high boots. All white. 

"You look beautiful," Chanyeol said before he could stop himself. 

"Why, thank you, dear sir. I spent hours trying to fit this just right. Et voila."

"You made this?"

"Tweaked. I'm no seamstress. But I can use a needle."

Right. Of course. Chanyeol should stop staring at Baekhyun's shiny cheeks that matched the color of his cotton candy pink hair. Get a grip. 

"You said classy outfit, right? I have all-black fits, recital clothes."

"Ah, that would create quite the buzz, but I like the idea. Show me," Baekhyun said. And then he neatly sat down on Chanyeol's bed and crossed his legs, waiting for Chanyeol to appear in his black attire. 

Right. Well, Chanyeol wasn't ready to strip in front of this Victorian ghost boy yet. Yet? Jesus Christ, his mind was well on its way to the gutter. 

"I'll be right back," Chanyeol took the shirt and pants from his drawers and went to the bathroom to change. 

He came back to soft music playing on his speakers. His music. 

"Sorry, I was snooping around and found your disks. You really composed these?"

"Uh, yeah, last term."

"I need to get this on my phone. Later. Well, you look pretty."

Chanyeol felt his ears go red. 

"Are you wearing contacts?"

"Yeah."

"You weren't wearing them last night, you wore your glasses. That's why I couldn't recognize you right away. Well. Mind switching now? It'll fit better."

It was ridiculous how Chanyeol just switched from contacts to glasses without protests. 

"And I love this collar," Baekhyun walked up to him and undid the first two buttons from his half-collar. "Hmm, better. You have any accessories?"

"Uh…"

"My friends are very serious about weekend parties, you'll be surprised by the amount of effort they put in. They'll appreciate it if you showed you cared too. But no pressure, I mean, don't make yourself uncomfortable or anything. You already look really good so I don't think you need to worry, plus I'm sure everyone would just appreciate you being there…"

Baekhyun was babbling and it was so adorable, Chanyeol was shamelessly just staring without being the least bit discreet about it. 

He ended up wearing the silver necklace his sister got him last year on his birthday. Half a heart, the other half was on Yuna's wrist. 

They arrived at Chen's apartment in town. It was… not what Chanyeol expected, at all. Chen, the one with the catlike smile, wore a Peter Pan outfit, all white, with white antlers on his head instead of the hat. He padded barefoot as he welcomed Baekhyun and Chanyeol inside. Some of the others were familiar faces Chanyeol had seen earlier at the auditorium. A Medusa with white dreadlocks and a white snakeskin-like dress contrasting her brilliant ebony skin. A Lucifer in a white suit and tarred feet. Two Victorian ghosts much like Baekhyun but very differently dressed. A guy dressed as honest-to-God Edgar Allan Poe with a fake moustache, looking ready to attend his own wedding in a three piece embroidered suit. The woman on his side dressed as a bride, probably the cousin. And then there was Minseok serving wine wearing a white fur coat and the crown of a king. 

Well. This was. Something. 

"I should kick you out for not wearing even a thread of white," Minseok said. "But you look good, and you're carrying the cake, so I'll overlook this time."

"Don't mind him, you look perfect," Chen laughed with genuine delight. Everyone else agreed. 

"Help me with the cake," Baekhyun gestured towards the kitchen with his head and Chanyeol followed. 

Baekhyun had made two cakes but decorating them and bringing them over would have been a disaster. So he put everything in containers, the cakes, the fondant, buttercream, chocolate and other decorations, and strapped them to the back seat of his car. This party was no joke. 

Chanyeol set down the containers on the kitchen counter, which was already full of dishes being prepared and ready to be set on the table. 

"I feel like I should have brought something," Chanyeol said to Baekhyun. 

"Well, at least you brought your wits," the tall lanky actor dressed like the ghost of Monte Christo said as he handed a glass of white wine to Chanyeol. 

"You having flashbacks of your initiation, Jongin?" Chen laughed as he stirred some kind of soup in a pot. 

"Jesus, don't remind me," Jongin shuddered and went back to sit with the others. 

Baekhyun layered and put cream on the cake. Then fondant. Then carefully crafted cream flowers, roses and white chocolate feathers. Chanyeol stood there in awe, occasionally handing over whatever Baekhyun asked for and watched the cakes turn into works of art. How? One man. How? 

One man who can sing and act and probably dance too, can bake and decorate cakes, sew and fit his own medieval style clothes, and kiss. 

This party was a bad idea. Chanyeol was glad he didn't miss it. Getting to know Baekhyun's friends and how Baekhyun acted around them was a serious thing. Chanyeol paid attention to every conversation and voiceless interaction. He really should be a bit more careful. He couldn't help looking at Baekhyun every chance he got. 

The internal conflict Chanyeol was having was driving him crazy. 

What was happening? 

[albino-whumpee]

An old thing 5

First

Continued from here

I´m quite proud of this part. Do you remember the Walmart man? Yeah. More angst and sick fic than whump, but there.

CW// Non Con, Dub Con, NS*W at times, dehumanization, slavery, human trafficking, escape attempt, blood, broken noses, implied death, regain of identity, whump of minors, manhandling, prong collar, past torture, creepy and explosive whumpers, physical and emotional abuse.

Everything will be tagged and if there´s tags to be added, tell me please.

Dimitri was speechless.

“Can you repeat that, please?” He said.

“You’re too close with Kit, we’re gonna send you to a vacation house. Dont worry about Roahn, you will see her when it’s the mounting” Layo said across the table. Kit and Danae were playing outside.

“Im…I…when?” He asked visibly stressed.

“Maybe on saturday. The vacation house is on the other side of the country, next to Sunnyhills Beach, I think you know whose property is it”

Dimitri knew.

His last master before them.

The one who had tried to kill him with the prongs collar.

“His son will be taking good care of you, so you better behave and do as he says understood? He wont accept escapes like us. You know his methods already anyways, you will know whats better for you” He said sipping on his coffee. “Ah, but you’re still ours. If he thinks he is entitled to damage you, He wont see the end of it”

“U-Understood…” Dimitri said still cleaning his plates. He had time. If he hurried up, maybe he could escape tomorrow. While they were on their cocktail party.

“I gotta believe I can do it” He told himself

—

Report came and Dimitri explained how he could the plan for the next day to Kit. How he would take him to that place.

“With Jen and Roahn?”

“Yes with them too” he smiled. “But you gotta tell me if they’re sleeping”

“Master was drinking a lot and Master was already asleep”

“Alright Kit. Ill show you something but you must not say anything ok?”

“Ok!”

He took out the improvised key from a vase and tainted the lock until he opened it.

“You could get out all this time?”

He sighed “No. Only on important moments. Now shhh” he put his finger on his mouth. “Come on Ill get you to your room but silence”

Kit put his lips together and followed him to his room. An spacious yet small little place with only the necessary and some toys. He was relieved he didnt live like them.

Dimitri put him to sleep.

“Goodnight Dimitri see you tomorrow?”

“Goodnight Kit. See you tomorrow” he said as he gave him a kiss on his forehead.

He closed the door silently.

Silent as a mouse, he went to his office. In all those years they had never guessed he had a key. So they had never bothered to lock the office. Dimitri knew perfectly where the copies were, but he knew keeping them would be too evident so he took them and made an improvised and quick copy of them with plaster.

He only needed to wait a few hours for it to harden.

He went as fast as he had gotten in but heard steps and hid quickly.

“Fuck…” Layo’s voice. He was going to the bathroom. And he would pass around the office for that.

Dimitri breathed quickly as he noticed. Was it that way he would end up? He took a stone decoration from a table and was ready to smash it on his head when he heard:

“Master? I can’t sleep!” Kit cried.

“What the…go to bed, Kit” the man said walking towards him.

“I can’t! Tell me a story! please, master!”

“Ugh what a pain is one am…Alright, Alright, coming go to your bed, Ill go take a piss before that…”

Dimitri held tight to the artifact.

“No!! Now!!”

“Argh! What a kid! Ok ok” he heard the door shutting.

Dimitri left the stone on its place and ran quietly to the cell. He closed it again and started working.

At 7 am it was ready. Later, Dimitri was preparing their masters for a full day outside when Layo said:

“Dont try anything funny Ok?” As he was locked up again. He had to hold the urge to laugh on his face.

“Understood”

Kit came running down a few minutes later.

“They’re gone!” He had told him.

Dimitri stood up. With backpacks on hand.

“Its time, Kit”

—

Dimitri got out of the cell and went upstairs. The house was empty. Or so it seemed.

“Kit” Dimitri held the boy’s small shoulders “I need you to go check on the door if there’s somebody. I’ll go get them ok? If theres someone dont scream it” he took the house phone and made it ring pressing a button “you do this and let the phone ring three times. Alright?”

The kid nodded. Dimitri gave him his binoculars back.

“Go see, explorer” he told him before the kid ran off.

He then made a little jump and sprinted towards the stairs. He went to the door where Roahn was and knocked three times. Her voice was husky.

“Dimitri?” She called

“Roahn, it’s me. We’ve gotta go. Now. Can you handle it?” He asked her through the door. A cough.

“Yeah” she said “always”

“We will take you to a doctor. I swear.” He said looking down and putting the keys on.

Roahn had been very sick for weeks. She couldnt give her enough milk and was very weak. Refusing to eat even. Miraculously, Jen was healthier than ever.

Finally the door opened and Roahn had her baby on her skinny arms. Eyebags dark in her face. Yet the light on her eyes were strong. He held her after giving her a hug.

“Lets go” he said as he helped her walk through the house. “Kit is waiting” that line made her sob happily.

“Our baby…” she said looking nowhere

They streamed downstairs, Roahn almost falling at various times due her legs not being able to move correctly. However Dimitri was there to hold her.

When they finally reached the kitchen Kit was waiting for them.

“Nobody on sight!” He said as if he was a sailor.

“Good” Dimitri told him “Kit, help Roahn out a bit would you?” He said putting her down to open the door. Kit sat besides Roahn and asked her if she was Alright to which she responded with a smile. Dimitri held the concrete key on his hand and inhaling deeply he unlocked the door.

The clicking sound of freedom was on his ears as if it was music.

-

The four of them stepped out of the house to the secondary door. Not before putting coats with hoodies that covered their faces. Then they ran. Quietly, agitatedly, desperately. The four of them reached the door withut problems.

There was no one apparently.

The door was in a vine wall. It was easy to pass through it because the key Dimitri had was a copy of the master key he used to buy groceries.

He held them down for a bit while he opened the door. It was the last thing.

The last.

When he opened the door he saw the street and a fist on his direction. A man in black suit punched him making him fall. Roahn and Kit immediately tried to run away from the man, but Dimitri, even when hazy due the pain, used a close by rock to knock the guy out by hitting his head. The man fell and Dimitri was alert to anybody else coming to try and stop them. But there was no one.

“Roahn!! Kit! Its ok!” He yelled with blood going down his nose. They went out of their hiding spot and went back to Dimitri.

“Are you ok?” Roahn said cleaning the blood off his face and stuffing his nose with tissues.

“Yes, we just need to go now” he told her holding her hand a second.

“Is he dead?” Kit asked without taking his eyes off the fallen man. Blood came out of his ears.

“No” Dimitri answered him taking the kid by his hand and running past the body “he’s just unconscious”

They ran and ran and ran until they were on a plaza with a supermarket and a pharmacy.

They were free.

“Now where?” Roahn asked him visibly tired.

Dimitri took a look at Roahn holding Jen like she was a precious stone. Impressively calm. Kit was amazed by everything he saw.

“Now…we take these off” he told her taking his hands to his neck. Feeling the belt like collar and undoing it. He took it out carefully and slowly. Holding it in his hands, Kit could see clearly the old scars on his neck. It grossed the kid to think about how he got such hideous scars.

Dimitri knelt down to Kit and took his collar off too. Kit felt lighter than usual and couldn’t hold the instinct to touch his now free neck.

Dimitri smiled a bit and ruffled his hair before doing the same to Roahn.

Roahn dropped a tear when she felt that lightness on her neck. They looked at each other’s eyes for a second but Roahn pulled him closer and gave him a kiss on his neck and then on his lips.

“Yikes” said Kit watching them. They looked at the kid and laughed.

“Sorry Kit” Dimitri laughed.

“What about looking around for a place to stay, hun?” Roahn asked sweating cold. “We’re tired and we will need to hide for a bit…” she said.

“You feeling ok, Ro?” He asked him cupping her face with his hands. She nodded slowly “We will take the bus to Keith City, I’ll go buy the tickets and have a doctor check on you there ok?”

“Ok” she said.

Suddenly Jen started revolving and slapping Roahn’s face.

“Hey hey what is it Jen?” She asked her. Kit moving towards her.

“Dont cry Jen! It will be alright!” The kid said.

“Is she hungry?” Dimitri asked. Roahn blushed in embarrassment.

“I cant… feed her. I need some baby milk powder. Do we have some?” She asked Dimitri.

He started to search but it was in vain and he knew it.

“Kit” the kid shoot his head up from trying to comfort the now crying baby “could you tell that man there where could we get an electric chair for Roahn?” He asked signaling a person with a supermarket uniform not that far away.

The kid ran to him and asked him. The man was almost a geezer but his smile was really bright.

“It’s for your mommy there? Is she alright?” He asked Kit.

“Eh…Roahn? I hope so…” the kid said unsettling the man a bit.

“Not your mom? Its your auntie then? You two look alike a lot” he said again pulling the electric chair to the woman.

“We-we do?” Kit said finding himself a question.

“Here it is lady. Everything alright? You look a bit pale ma’am” he said helping her get into the chair.

“Yes, sir” she answered him not conscious of her formality.

The man found the people on his view with a woman with baby on arms crying out loud, the many bags and the very attractive man with tissues on his nose very strange. But it was a walmart. He had seen all kind of people go there. So he just walked away.

They put some of the bags in the electric chair and the others on the package service. Then they entered the market. Dimitri was used to go so he wasn’t as excited as the others. Yet he couldn’t hide his happiness of not feeling that uncomfortable thing on his neck. It was now in the trash. They went through the isles calming the baby with a toy that hypnotized her long enough for them to look at everything. Kit was amazed. Asking questions about this and that. Roahn looked at the pharmacy isle where there should be a doctor with longing. Dimitri didnt notice as he was coming back with baby milk powder on his hands.

In the end they bought a few more things. Like the toy and a magazine for Kit. As well as painkillers. The cashier recognized him and greeted him “Good morning!” Dimitri greeted back. “Is that your family?” The teen asked looking at Kit showing Roahn an article from his magazine.

“Yes” he answered blushing.

“Your kid is very energetic” she remarked.

“He is!” He laughed a bit “excuse me, Lana, where would I get bus tickets? We’re going to Keith City to visit my wife’s sister, but my card doesnt seem to work now…”

“Oh! Here would be fine. Two adults and a kid right?”

Dimitri payed for the bus tickets that would depart in two hours and met Roahn and Kit.

Roahn was a bit uncomfortable to leave the chair, but they got a taxi to the bus station so she didnt have to walk any longer. She was now green.

“Everything alright ma’am?” The taxi driver asked her while Dimitri fed Jen.

“Y-yes, sir. No need to worry. Thank you” she answered.

Kit extended his bag of chips to her.

“Want one Roahn? You dont look good…” He said.

“Im alright Kit. Just tired, that’s all” she ruffled his hair. Kit pulling it down annoyed. “Ill be taking one, though” she said eating a chip slowly.

She rested her head On Dimitri’s shoulder who gave her a kiss on her forehead.

“Im not ok” she mumbled.

“We will get you a doctor there I promise” he whispered to her, giving her a kiss.

The rest of the way Kit talked with the driver asking him questions about his travels.

When they arrived at the bus station, they were good friends.

They got there just in time and went up the bus. It was a four hour ride, but all of them were exhausted and fell asleep as soon as the bus started moving.

Dimitri woke up an hour before getting there.

It was the first time he didn’t have a collar and walked around freely. It had been strange for him to book sits because of his lacking of last name. But he had come up with one last second.

His name was Dimitri Holberg.

Maybe it was made up, but he had an identity now. He wasn’t bee, yellow, dog or dildo.

He was a human being and his name was Dimitri Holberg.

He had a family and a mission to reunite them all.

With determination they arrived at Keith’s city.

[fanficmepage]

Chapter 13

Masterlist

Previous

Next 

I would like to say, I began writing this chapter three weeks ago and school just messed up my schedule so I can finally post it. Sorry for the wait, hope you all enjoy it. ♥

“And it's officially the coldest winter in Gotham.”

The news played in the background early in the morning. The three years since Raven got brought home for the first time seemed like a second. Raven’s developed faster than Bruce could keep up. Her reading skills grew greatly but stayed as quiet as a mouse unlike a year ago; Bruce greatly underestimated the terrible twos. Raven was so cute yet frustrating. 

Her answer was no and when Bruce finally had enough of her little attitude; she’d cuddle right up to his leg and pull the best puppy dog eyes she could. He tried to keep a strong front, finally winning a few battles against the puppy eyes. At the end of the day, Raven knew the way to get to her father’s heart and avoid trouble. If not, a quick trip to grandpa made the day better. 

Bruce sat beside his child on the couch. Her cheeks were red and puffy. Raven covered in multiple blankets. A slight wheeze could be heard with every breath. Bruce gently placed his and upon her forehead for what seemed like the hundredth time that morning. 

“Your fever hasn’t gone down,” Bruce gently caressed her heated cheek.

“Daddy,” she croaked, “I’m cold.”

Bruce patted her head and pulled her closer to him, “I know baby, I know.”

Raven cuddled into her father’s side in search of more warmth. Small droplets of sweat slowly ran down her forehead while her hands remained ice cold. It had been two weeks but the fever only grew worse each passing day. 

“Master Bruce,” Alfred called, “your meeting starts in an hour.” 

Bruce sighed and gently laid Raven down where he was sitting. A loud whine followed by sniffles. He looked down to see his baby, bottom lip poking out and a small hand reaching for him, “stay daddy.”

“I gotta go to work sweetie, daddy will be back before you know it.”

“Nooooo,” she whined as tears began to fill her eyes, “daddy stay home.”

Bruce caressed her cheek, wiping away the fresh tears, “it’s okay baby, you get to spend the day with grandpa.”

Her pout didn’t ease, eyes pleading for him to stay. Bruce left a soft kiss on her forehead. Lifting her in his arms, her head settled comfortably on his shoulder. 

“The car is ready, Master Bruce,” Alfred appeared with Bruce’s winter coat. Alfred gently takes Raven from her father wrapping her in the blanket.

“She is going to be fussy again.”

“I plan to take her to the doctor again sir, this cold of hers is getting ridiculous.”

Bruce paused for a moment, worry filling his chest, “what time, I’ll meet you there.”

“Oh, I can handle this sir-”

“No,” he interrupted, “I should be there. It already stresses her out when I’m not here.”

“Very well.”

Bruce gave the sleeping baby a final kiss and left.

He knew her condition had gotten progressively worse yet he never imagined it being “back at the hospital” bad. The moment he got the call from a frantic Alfred, his heart dropped. Now he sits in a small grey room next to his now sleeping daughter. Only the sound of her heart monitor fills the room. Alfred paced back and forth silently. 

After what felt like an eternity, Bruce broke the silence: “has anyone been able to see why she’s worse?”

“No,” the older gentleman had finally stopped pacing, “all they told me is what I bloody knew before coming here.” 

The room fell back into silence, the feeling of helplessness set in. A soft shift in the bed alerts the two men. Bruce immediately leans in, placing a hand on her forehead. Two little eyes began to open, glazed over.

“D-daddy?” She choked out, slightly wheezing.

“Yes princess, I’m right here.”

“I wanna go home,” tears began to fill her eyes again, “please daddy?”

Bruce’s heart broke at her weak pleas, “soon, baby, once the doctors are done then we can go home.”

“No!” she tried to shout as unshed tears began to fall from her eyes, “no more doctors. I wanna go home.”

“I know baby, I know,” Bruce tried to calm down his now weeping baby, “Daddy and grandpa are here, we will keep you safe. Can you be strong for daddy, princess?”

Raven sniffled, one hand wiping her tears while the other grabbed her father’s hand. Finally, she began to calm down; scooting closer to Bruce, “o-okay.”

“That’s my girl.”

The door swung open and Dr. Warner entered with her clipboard.

“I see the little miss is awake,” Dr. Warner said softly while approaching the bed, “how are you feeling sweetheart?”

“Cold,” Raven looked away, gripping her father’s hand harder.

Dr. Warner turned towards Bruce, “I got the results, the good news is you guys can go home today.”

“That implies that there is bad news,” Alfred spoke up.

“Yes, well,” she paused, looking for her words, “as we know she grew an extremely high fever but after all our tests; we have no idea what caused it.”

“What do you mean: you don’t know?” Bruce questioned.

“She is perfectly healthy besides her fever. I am truly sorry Mr. Wayne but there is nothing we can do. I suggest picking up some children’s strength Tylenol on your way home. I’ll bring her discharge papers.”

“Go home?” Raven asked the doctor.

“Yes, sweetie. But first,” Warner reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a small round lollipop, “for being such a brave little girl.”

Raven gingerly took the lollipop and popped it in her mouth and mumbled, “thank you.”

“It’s a cough drop,” she spoke to Bruce, “if the cough gets bad again just give her another one, they sell them downstairs in the pharmacy.”

“Thank you, doctor.”

“No problem, if things get worse, just bring her back again,” with a nod, Dr. Warner left the three in silence once more. Yet, the anxiety in Bruce’s chest never left. All he could do is wait out this winter storm. 

A small hand tugged at the blankets covering Bruce. He sat up, grumbling, “what’s wrong? It’s too late for you to be asleep.”

“I’m cold, I can’t sleep, daddy,” Raven clutched onto her blanket shivering, “can I sleep with you?”

“Alright, come here sweetie,” Bruce lifted the blanket as Raven slipped inside. As Bruce moved to stay on the edge giving her most of the bed; two tiny hands as cold as ice pressed to his back. Bruce flinched, rolling back to face her.

“I wanna be close to you,” she whispered.”

“Why?”

“Daddy is always warm,” Raven beamed up at her father as she snuggled in. Bruce couldn’t find the words to say no. He tucked her into his side, baring the cold hands and feet for the rest of the night.

Hopefully, I can get the next chapter out sooner than this one. I just wanna let y'all know, I got a Tumblr if you guys are interested. The link is in my profile 😊

[katehuntington]

Title: Changes - part seven Word count: ±3000 words Summary “Changes”: Huntress Zoë Sullivan (OFC) crosses paths and swords with the Winchesters, when the brothers stumble on a case she’s already working. When complications arise, they are forced to work together. Summary part seven: Sam finds a perculiar place for him and his brother to spend the night, but can’t get the female hunter out of his mind. What caused her to act the way that she did? Episode warnings: Dark! NSFW, 18+ only! Angst, gore, violence, character death. Description of blood, injury and medical procedures. Demon possession, supernatural creatures/entities. Smut, swearing, alcohol use/addiction. Kidnapping, mentions of torture and murder, illegal/criminal practices. Mentions of nightmares and flashbacks.  Music: The Passenger - Iggy Pop & The Stooges. Author’s note: I couldn’t be more excited to share Supernatural: The Sullivan Series with you. There are quite a few people I want to thank: @coffee-obsessed-writer​​​, @soupornatural​​​ & @mrswhozeewhatsis​​​, who edited the early drafts, and my girls @girl-with-a-fandom-fettish​​​ & @winchest09​​​ who are deciphering the recent version. Everyone who encouraged me to go for it, you are awesome!

Supernatural: The Sullivan Series Masterlist 01x01 “Changes” Masterlist

    “No, it doesn’t matter… Any room… Alright… Thank you, sir.” Sam removes his phone from his ear and presses the disconnect button.     That’s settled then; they have a place to spend the night. He’s not sure if Dean is gonna be happy about the type of room, it being expensive as well, but at least he will have a bed.     The younger Winchester shuts the screen of his laptop and puts it away in his backpack beside his feet, then rests his head against his seat. The green neon of the pharmacy sign up the street flickers rhythmically. Dean killed the engine but left the key in the ignition, allowing The Passenger by Iggy Pop & The Stooges to play on the radio. Sam has the urge to change the station, rock is more Dean’s kind of thing than it is his. But as always, he doesn’t, knowing that if he did, he would receive a ‘Dude, don’t change the fucking station’ comment when his brother gets back.

    He closes his eyes for a moment, but makes sure he doesn’t fall asleep. Man, he’s so tired. He feels like he could sleep for days, but a nightmare would probably spoil his moment of rest, just like they have for the last month. He sighs, listening to the cars driving by and footsteps on the sidewalk next to their parking spot. Then he looks outside, watching people hasten to their destination. Ordinary people, men, women, children. All with a certain goal, they seem to know where they’re heading. Business people in neat suits, mothers out shopping, kids hanging around after school. The lives of most of them are so simple. They don’t have a clue what’s really going on, what other world they’re living parallel to. He remembers brief moments of the time he didn’t know. If he had the smallest hunch of what he is aware of now, he would have never begged his brother to tell him. He closes his eyes again and breathes out; what a wonderful world.

    Out of nowhere, a loud bang sounds through the car. Sam almost jumps out of his skin and looks outside, startled, expecting to witness a car crash, but instead, he sees his smirking brother with his fist still resting against the window. Sam rolls his eyes while Dean walks around the car and gets in.     He laughs as he opens the bag. “You were out, man.”     “No I wasn’t,” Sam denies. “Did you get something?”     “Vicodin.” Dean shows off his meds, pops one capsule out of the package and knocks it back.     “Don’t you need a prescription for that kind of stuff?” Sam contemplates.     “Yeah, but the pharmacist was hot,” Dean grins, waving a card with a cell number written on it in the air.

    Sam shakes his head and chuckles; typical.     “Shall I drive? I’m quite sure you’re not allowed when you’re on Vicodin,” he suggests.     “Dude, we face death on a daily basis, and you’re worried about my driving skills after one teensy weensy Vicodin pill?” He glances in his side mirror before he turns his car back on the road.     “Touché,” Sam admits.     “Found a place to stay?” Dean checks.     “Yeah, I did.”

    The black Chevrolet approaches traffic lights on the corner of S. Broadway and 2nd Street Southwest, as Dean looks aside at his brother, his hand resting on the wheel. “Where to?”     “Take a right here, then the second right and a final fifth left. It’s not that far,” Sam explains.     Dean does as told, but gazes at Sam for a moment after he accelerates and makes the turn.     “What are you? A hunter equipped with a global positioning system?” he chuckles.     “I’m surprised you managed to say those fancy words without stuttering,” Sam counters.     “Hey, I’m surprised you still can’tgive out your fake ID without stuttering, you don’t hear me belly achin’ about it,” Dean counters with a grin, secretly enjoying their brotherly banter.

    Five minutes later, they leave the car in a small parking lot next to a three-story red brick building that used to be a warehouse once. Now, purple neon light flickers above the entrance: Deep Purple Inn.     “If the place is as good as the music, this is gonna be a hell of a stay,” Dean comments, glancing through the windshield.     “I thought you just needed some sleep?” Sam refers while he gets out and looks over the top of the car.     “I still do, but Stacy gets off at nine.” Dean closes the door with a smirk on his face.     “Stacy?” Sam asks, puzzled.     “Keep up, man! Vicodin-girl,“ his brother reminds him as he picks up the pharmacy bag from the back seat.     “Right.” Sam looks down at his feet with a chuckle. “And your point?”     He waits for a response while they enter the motel. The Inn is obscurely decorated, purple being the main theme, not surprisingly. The peculiar interior design choices have both the Winchesters frowning as they take in the lobby.     “My point is that while you are out checking on Zoë, I’ll be checking out Stacy,” Dean clears up, after redirecting his attention to Sam.     He leans his left arm on the counter, careful not to harm his shoulder. He beams and raises his brows as his eyes sparkle; seems like he’s gonna get lucky tonight.

    “Can I help you guys?” A young bloke, probably in his mid-twenties, turns his office chair and faces the brothers. He’s dressed in casual clothing with a waistcoat, his black hair is spiked with shiny gel.     “Yeah, we just called in for a room. Is it still open?” Sam checks.     “You probably talked to my manager, but yeah.” He nods. “We have a room left.”     “We’ll take it,” Sam decides as he slips a credit card.     The guy behind the counter gets up and takes the card. Impatiently, Sam checks his phone for the time; it’s four PM. Zoë’s meeting Terry Cliffer in an hour and a half and he wants to be there before she does. His brother, on the other hand, already seems to have forgotten about the argument with their fellow hunter, as he steals his fifth caramel toffee from the counter, puts it in his mouth and looks around to make sure no one saw it.

    “So, you just drove back in from Canada or somethin’?” the desk clerk asks, as he passes the card back to Sam.     “Beg your pardon?” he asks, somewhat dazed.     The young guy captures Dean’s attention as well, because he studies him with the same confused expression, having some difficulty chewing his toffee. They don’t receive an answer, though, at least not a direct one.     “Here you go.” The young guy puts a gift basket wrapped up in glittery transparent paper on the counter.     He places the key of room 301 next to it as Sam reads the card; Just married. Dean frowns when he detects a pair of handcuffs inside, upholstered with purple fluffy fur.     “What is this?” Sam looks from the gift basket to the guy behind the counter.     “You just got married, right?” the counter guy checks.

    Dean chokes on his toffee and coughs as the younger of the Winchesters stares from one to the other, flabbergasted. What did he say?     “Dude! We’re brothers!” Dean corrects with a raspy voice, not having cleared his windpipe entirely yet.     “Is that legal these days?” the young guy returns, disgusted.     “What? No - no - no. You got this all wrong. We’re not married, we just want a place to spend the night,” Sam clears up.     “Nice going, Sam. That sounded even grosser,” the older of the two comments.     “You do know you rented the bridal suite, Mr… Gillan?” he now carefully asks, reading the false name from the screen which he just got from Sam’s credit card.     “You rented the bridal suite?!” Dean exclaims, dramatically.     “It was the only room I could find,” Sam answers, guilty.     Dean rolls his eyes and turns around, lifting his arms from his side in disbelief. “He rented the bridal suite.”     “You brothersstill want it?” the guy behind the counter makes sure, clearly not impressed by all the fuss.

    Sam waits for Dean to approve. It doesn’t take long before he sighs, a frustrated hand gesture combined with an eye roll telling him to settle for the room. Sam takes the key and is followed by Dean, who snatches the gift basket off the counter as he walks by. When he receives a questioning look from the clerk, he turns around to face him.     “I’m expecting company later this evening. Might be needing those,” he points out the handcuffs in the goody bag. “Her name is Stacy somethin’. Make sure she gets in.”    “Will do,” he promises with a slight nod.

    While shaking his head, the older Winchester catches up with Sam, who’s waiting for him at the staircase. He glares at the gift basket and back at Dean, wondering what on earth he would want with that.     “Don’t worry, it’s for Stacy, not you,” Dean assures, as he begins his climb to the third floor.     Sam chuckles, he almost forgot about that. At this moment, however, Dean seems more bugged by being called queer, than happy to have a cute pharmacist over for the evening.     “Can you believe that guy?” Dean turns around at the top of the stairs and looks down on Sam. “Come on, do I give off a gay vibe?!”     Sam halts and looks up, pressing his lips into a thin line to suppress a laugh. Although Dean does his best to be all manly and tough, the thatched basket hanging from his arm gives a different idea.     Dean notices Sam’s strained face, glares skyward and moves on. “Don’t answer that.��

    They conquer three stories and arrive at room 301. Sam turns the key and opens the door, revealing the suite to Dean. He lifts his eyebrows as his brother switches on the lights and walks in. Purple. The walls, the sheets, the curtains, everything is either painted or fabricated a shade of purple. Several spotlights look down at them from the ceiling like tentacles of an octopus, and abstract paintings decorate the wall. The ceiling is the only surface that isn’t draped in the obnoxious color, but it reflects all that is via a giant mirror. The bedposts are made of steel and reach up to the ceiling, seeming to go on in the reflection. Small cushions are carefully made up on the bedspread.

    Dean sets the basket down on the main table near the window as he checks out the ceiling, the huge bed and its poles, imagining watching Stacy hanging from one of those. Or even better, being cuffed to one of those. He sniggers gruffly. They’ve come across their fair share of strange rooms, but this one is off the charts. Either the interior designer was intoxicated with Purple drank or was high on LSD, because no one in their right mind would come up with this.     “This is awesome,” he concludes, amused with the absurdity of the suite.     “There’s only one bed,” Sam notices.     “No shit, Captain Obvious. It’s a bridal suite. Not sure what you had in mind for your wedding night, but if you were thinking separate beds, you weren’t doing it right,” Dean chuckles, sauntering towards the large king size.

    There’s no clever answer following up his comment and Dean looks aside. When he sees his brother’s face, he realizes he hit a sore spot and his smile disappears. Sam might have pictured his wedding already, since Jessica was his longtime girlfriend. He’s quite sure Sam hadn’t proposed yet, but he knows his younger brother; he planned his future. It might have crossed his mind once or twice.     “Sorry, man,” Dean apologizes. “But now that we started on that subject; you don’t sleep, right?”     Sam closes the door behind them and turns at his brother. He decides to let it go.     “Right, not much anyway,” he answers with some hesitation, not sure where Dean is going with this.     “Good, then I’ll take this baby,” Dean sighs and falls down on the bed.     As he lands, a sloshing sound comes from inside the mattress as Dean bounces up and down like he’s riding small waves in a pool. His eyes light up and excitedly stares at his brother; it’s a waterbed.     “This is beyondawesome!” he laughs, rocking it even harder.

    Sam chuckles at the sight of his goofy brother, who has the resemblance of a six-year-old. Oh well, at least he’s able to enjoy the little things. For a brief moment, he thinks about Jess again, like he does countless times a day. Dean’s comment resurfaced some thoughts and feelings. Even though his life was turned upside down less than a month ago by her shattering death, it feels like all the good and normal happened so long ago. The gutting pain is still there and will remain for a long time, if not forever. Losing his girlfriend also created a massive rift between what is and what will never be. A canyon so wide, no bridge can span across. He can never be that college student with a bright future in law anymore.

    His mind shifts to the huntress who they crossed paths with, and he wonders if that same unbreachable gap is the reason why she’s so bitter.     “I still don’t get it,” Sam ponders. “Why would Zoë be dead set on working this case herself?”     “You’re still worked up over that? Oh, Sammy,” Dean shakes his head as he lays back on the covers. “Just accept that she’s an insane bitch and let it go, will ya?”     “But she wasn’t like this. You said so yourself,” the younger brother reminds him. “And what’s the deal with Dad? Did you see how angry she got when I mentioned him?”     “As far as I’m concerned she’s in Dad’s debt. Exorcising that Diligo demon was close to impossible. She’s alive because of him,” Dean states, defensive. “Look, I don’t know what crawled up her ass. I mean, you gotta be a little mad to do the job, but she does it alone and has for four years. That does something to a person. Maybe she saw some shit, got some wires crossed–-”     “Dad did the job alone for years when we were kids,” Sam reminds him.     “He always had us to come back to, Sam,” Dean disagrees. “He has a family.”     Sam narrows his eyes now, peering at his brother through his bangs. “She doesn’t?”

    Dean hesitates now, biting at his lip for a second before he answers, staring at his reflection on the ceiling before averting his gaze to his brother. “I don’t think she speaks to them.”     The younger Winchester frowns. “What makes you say that?”     Dean shakes his head, half dismissing his own thought. “It’s probably nothing, just something she said, or didn’t say, really. My guess is that she’s on her own and has been for a while. Explains why she was crawling the walls with us around. We don’t know what her reasoning is, but we do know she’s crazy, pissed off, not to mention a fucking assassin. Best to leave a hunter like that be.”

    Sam huffs, silently disagreeing. Dean might be glad to be rid of the female hunter, he himself can’t give it a rest, though.     “Knowing you won’t…” Dean stretches his back, wincing when his wounded shoulder stings sharply. “What time are you heading out?”     Sam checks his watch; it’s 4:15. Zoë will probably be at the bar in an hour or so.     “Four-thirty. See how that conversation goes, check on Cliffer’s place, maybe,” he says, still contemplating.     “As long as you don’t interrupt me and Vicodin girl, I’m good,” Dean mumbles carelessly.

    While Dean closes his eyes, relieved that the pain is starting to fade, Sam takes out his laptop and plugs it in. He has fifteen minutes to crack the Olmsted county website he was working on earlier. If he can get his hands on some recent blueprints, he might find a pattern that isn’t visible on the older public maps. He opens a few programs on his laptop and after a bit of work, he manages to get into the back of the website. Just before 4:30, he double clicks the ‘ok’ button and his computer begins to download a zip file, which contains the information he’s been looking for.

    That should do it, but for now, he will make sure Zoë is alright. Why? He’s not exactly sure, but he has a feeling he should. He once mistrusted that ‘feminine intuition shit’ – as Dean likes to call it – and Jessica ended up dead because of it. A hard lesson learned, and although Zoë isn’t nearly as important to him as Jess, there’s something about her that feels familiar, that he needs to protect.     He gets up from his chair and walks to the door, glancing at the bed before he leaves. Dean is fast asleep and as Zoë said earlier, he would need to set off a bomb to wake him up. Returning here later tonight will not be an option with the visitor his brother is expecting, but he can worry about that later. For now, he has some business to take care of. He leaves the room, closes the door behind him, and heads off.

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to reblog my work or buy me coffee (Link in bio at the top of the page).

Read part eight here

[kldubois]

Lessons in Looking 9/?

Title: Nothing by Halves

Words: 1920

She wakes coughing, hurting, and overly warm. It’s not new given the nasty cold she’s had for the past week. She thought she was over it though. The fever had been gone for a couple of days but now it seems to be back. When another coughing fit hits, her head spins and aches. She moans, curling around her chest to ease the ache that’s set in there.

“Evie?” Marla’s voice is quiet and concerned as she enters the dark room. It’s mid-morning outside, but it’s the weekend and she wanted to give Evie more time to rest. Between the coughing, fever, and nausea, the cold had taken a lot out of her. Usually, Marla would’ve had a hard time getting her to stay in bed rather than the couch, but Evie hadn’t put up much of a fight.

When she doesn’t get a response, Marla turns on the desk lamp and goes over to sit on the edge of the bed next to Evie’s curled up form. Her friend is breathing heavily, still with that rasp that had her concerned during the last week that the cold was something more than just a cold. But then her fever had broken and Evie seemed to be getting better, if not for the cough and breathing.

“How’re you feeling,” Marla asks. She checks to see if Evie’s fever has returned with a hand on her forehead. That’s enough to wrestle Evie out of whatever stupor she was in and she uncurls a little to look up at Marla, eyes glazed with fever. “Your fever’s back.”

“Hurts,” Evie says, voice low and weak.

“What does? Your chest? Your head?”

“Both.”

“I’ll get you some ibuprofen and juice. While I’m gone, keep this in your mouth.” Marla takes out the thermometer and sticks in Evie’s mouth without waiting for her to respond. When she comes back with the pills and juice, Evie hasn’t moved. The thermometer reads 102.4.

“You’ve got a fever again, Evie.” Marla brushes aside some of the stray hairs from Evie’s forehead. Her friend moves towards her hand, apparently enjoying the coolness compared to her burning body. “Let’s get you sitting up a bit so you can take these pills and drink your juice. Then I’ll let you go back to sleep. Okay?”

Evie nods and uncurls a little and tries to get up but stops suddenly and Marla sees her face pale. She collapses back to the bed with a groan, eyes clenched closed tightly.

“You going to throw up,” Marla asks, already reaching for the bucket.

Evie shakes her head lightly.

“Okay. You got a headache?”

She nods, adding, “Dizzy. Ears hurt.”

“Your ears?”

“They’re full. Like a balloon to pop.”

“Ear infection then, probably.” Marla sighs. Given Evie’s track record, she shouldn’t be surprised, but faced with it now, she’s feeling overwhelmed. It’s already been a hard week with balancing her work and being around to look after Evie. Nate and Chuck have both been around to help when they can, giving her time to rest and run errands.

“Alright, then. You need to sit up a bit to take these pills for the fever and pain and drink some juice. Chuck’s coming by soon with some food. He can help us get to convenient care.”

“No, just want to stay here.” Evie coughs roughly, curling up as she grabs at her chest.

“No, you need to see a doctor. You probably need antibiotics to help with your ears so you don’t lose your hearing. Now, come on. The sooner you sit up, the sooner you can lay back down and get some sleep.” Marla doesn’t give Evie much time to argue. She gently helps her sit up a little, handing her the pills and then holding the cup of juice to her lips so she can take sips. When it’s clear that Evie can’t stand to sit up like this much longer with the mounting pain and dizziness, Marla sets her back down, resting her head on a pillow and pulling the covers back up. Evie’s eyes are closed and she doesn’t say anything more to Marla, but Marla does see the relieved look on her friend’s face.

“I’m going out into the living room for a few minutes to take care of a few things, but I’ll be back. Okay?”

In the living room, Marla gives Chuck a call. They’d become friends over the last couple of months, bonding in part over their friendship with Evie and concern for her well-being. The woman had a terrible habit of leaping before looking, which hadn’t been completely trained out of her by the company’s training.

“How soon are you able to get over here,” Marla asks, bypassing a normal greeting.

“Why? What’s wrong?” Chuck goes immediately into concerned mode.

“She has an ear infection now and can barely move without getting dizzy and hurting.”

“She needs a doctor.”

“Yeah and I’m going to need some help getting her to convenient care.”

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll send a doctor over.”

“We can’t afford a doctor who makes house calls. Just help me get her to convenient care.”

“Marla, do you think she’s going to be able to make it there without being in so much pain that she’s miserable, maybe even passes out?”

“What other option do we have?”

“The doctor is a close friend. He’ll be glad to help. This is the sort of thing that he likes doing. And I’ll take care of everything.”

“We’re not a charity case.”

“I’d never consider you a charity case. You and Evalyne are friends. If I can help you through my connections like this, then I will.”

“Fine, but we will be paying you back.”

“That’s up to the doctor. Right now, let’s work on getting Evie feeling better. I’ll give him a call and then head over. I should get there before him, but if not, I’ll text you his name and photo so you know who it is.”

The call ends shortly after and Marla goes back in to sit with Evie. Sir Galahad follows her in, jumping up on the bed to lay down along Evie’s back. She doesn’t feel any warmer, but the coughing and pain seem a little worse. Marla helps Evie to use her inhaler, but it doesn’t seem to have much of an impact. The nebulizer is probably the better route to go, but they don’t have any more medication for it. Perhaps this doctor Chuck is bringing will be able to prescribe some. She’s not happy about having to rely on Chuck for things like this. Her and Evie knew that he came from wealth, but he didn’t act like he did. His parents hadn’t given him anything more than money for a college education, forcing him to earn his money on his own.

This really was the first time he’d shown his wealth. And while she doesn’t like having to pay out for a house call, she knows that this will be easier on Evie. Perhaps the doctor will be willing to take installments instead of the entire sum. They could afford a couple hundred today and then probably a little more than that monthly.

The doctor arrives not long after Chuck. He’s a friendly man, a little older than her and Evie. After they have the customary greetings, he asks to see Evie. He’s careful during his examination, talking with her quietly and not pushing her past what she can do comfortably. She’s quiet throughout much of it except for the occasional cry of pain, coughing fit, and noisy breathing. Save for having her sit up to listen to her breathing and to check her ears, he lets her stay curled up under the covers.

“Well, I think it’s safe to say that you have a double ear infection, Evalyne. Both ears look pretty bad and it accounts for the level of pain as well as fever,” he says from where he sits on the edge of the bed.

“Double ear infection? You sure don’t do anything by halves, Evie,” Marla says.

“Didn’t… mean it,” Evie mutters.

“Of course, you didn’t,” the doctor says. “The good news is, antibiotics will help. I’ll send a prescription to the pharmacy and they’ll have it dropped off shortly.”

“Oh, no, one of us can go out and pick it up,” Marla says.

“Nonsense. It’s part of my services. If a patient is bad off enough to need a house call, then surely they can’t afford to go out for a prescription and their caretaker can’t manage it either.”

“Oh, okay.” Marla can see the zeroes being tacked on to the bill at that.

“Now, about this breathing. Do you have an inhaler?”

“We tried it earlier, but it didn’t seem to do much,” Marla says. “She has a nebulizer, but the prescription ran out.”

“Well, that one’s easily solved too. Both prescriptions will be here within the hour.” He pauses a moment to enter some information into his phone, then puts it away to look up at them. “How else can I help?”

“You’ve done more than enough. Perhaps we can step out into the hall to talk about the bill.”

“Of course.” He follows Marla out into the hallway, leaving Chuck with Evie.

“I’m not really sure how to say this, but we don’t have the kind of money that Chuck does. We have no problems with paying you, but a thousands of dollars doctor bill is a little beyond our reach. If you’ll take installments, I’d really appreciate it.”

“Thousands of dollars? What did Chuck tell you about my business?”

“That you were a family friend.”

“Well, he got that right, but after this, he might need to reevaluate his part in that. Marla, my costs are much lower than you would normally pay at a hospital, especially if there’s no insurance involved. And this visit, because you’re a friend of Chuck’s and he didn’t explain things, is half my usual rate.”

“Oh. So…”

“Just over a hundred, but don’t worry about it right now. I’ll be sticking around for a couple of hours to make sure that she’s alright.”

“Is she that bad off?”

“I’m worried about the pain and breathing issues. The fever’s a little concerning, too, but she’s still coherent. I’d rather be here if something happens than on the other side of town with another patient.”

“I appreciate that. She was doing better, but she has this habit of taking the worst of the given options.”

“This is hardly the worst, but it is serious. You called me at the right time that hopefully, we can get control of the infection and keep it from getting much worse.”

The remainder of the day is spent looking after Evie in turns. The medicine comes and they start the treatments. The nebulizer has a quicker effect, easing her breathing within minutes of its use. It’s not gone, but there’s less strain. The fever and pain don’t lessen much during the day, but they also don’t grow worse, which is encouraging enough to the doctor that he leaves them mid-afternoon, giving Marla his business card.

Evie, for her part, is restless for much of the day, though the ease in breathing does help her to rest a little. Eventually, despite the pain and fever, her body gives into sleep. It’s no more restful until her fever breaks the next morning and she finally falls into a restive sleep.

[sabraeal]

What the Heart Wants, Chapter 2

What the Heart Wants, Chapter 1

ANS Week, Day 2: Rain Dark | Impactful | Nourishing | Fresh

Wilant will always be a pleasant diversion, a breath of fresh air when court life gets too stale --

But Zen breathes easier in Wistal.

Shirayuki may be happy in her scarves and stockings three layers thick, her bed stacked high with flannel blankets and down-stuffed quilts, but for Zen -- for Zen, home will always be the warm sun on his skin and the scent of honeysuckle and wisteria wafting through open windows. It is the cobbled streets of the city and the marbled halls of the castle, the calm, starry nights, and the strawberries so fresh they’re still sour from the vine.

Izana clearly feels the same; the moment they ride past the check point, his shoulders ease, his seat more natural on his steed. When he walks Wistal’s halls, still dirt-splattered from the road, there’s a spring in his step, a surety in his gait that is too marked to be purposeful.

He is a king, and this is the seat of his power. Even as a prince, Zen feels it too; that subtle shift in the air that infuses him with the confidence of his station. Obi’s reminded him all too many times -- on the road or in an inn, he is anonymous, a man like any other traveler, and a knife kills a prince just as easily as a swineherd. But here, here --

Here he is Zen Wisteria, Second Prince of Clarines. It chafes as much as it comforts.

Do not take too much heart in the thought, Izana had drawled at the observation, enjoying his disguise as Lowen, court pharmacist, far too much. Father died at home as well.

As if he could forget.

Mother comes with them to Wistal.

He’s not sure of the specifics behind the decision -- he was only privy to what he assumes was Izana’s last-ditch effort; a quiet lunch where Mother acquiesced without much struggle or fanfare. The only protest she gave was the token, tired sigh of, but I am not sure why I must needs convalesce in the city.

“It would set our minds at ease, Mother,” Izana tells her, but Zen recognizes the tone, recognizes the smile lurking at corner of his mouth.

It’s a good opportunity for her, he had said, years ago now, as the books in his office pressed in around them. A place for her to hone her skills, to make connections.

He had, of course, not said what he meant: A place where she will not be near you.

Zen is older now, more experienced in the subtle manipulations that oil the gears of this court – he hears what isn’t said:

It would set our minds at ease to know you aren’t near that man.

It’s him that Mother turns to when she has run out of her arguments, gaze patient and inquisitive, as if asking him to make the decision for her. As if asking whether he will allow her to be taken, as Shirayuki was from him. As if asking if he will let this trap spring for her as well.

The smile he wears doesn’t fit his mouth as he says, “You should come.”

She blinks once, almost as if taken aback, before her expression is once again inscrutably polite.

“Should I?” she murmurs faintly, lifting a delicate cup to her lips.

“Of course,” he presses. “Wistal is so nice in the summer.”

Her knuckles are white when she sets down her tea. “I suppose it would be nice. I have so missed the gardens…”

Mother’s garden sits in the South Wing, walled on two sides to keep it private from the larger, public gardens on the other side. If he’d stood on one of the delicate wicker traps mother called chairs, he’d be able to see the roofs of the pharmacy, maybe even the window shyly tucked back from the main thoroughfare that had marked Shirayuki’s office when she was in Wistal.

He hadn’t tried, of course – these things were barely safe to sit on, more for decoration than habitual use, no matter what Mother tried to convince him of – but just the knowledge of it warms him, makes him feel closer to her even when she’s miles away, in a city only now starting to melt at summer’s height.

It almost makes these teas worthwhile.

A breeze gently rustles through the garden, shaking the wisteria overhead, and Mother tilts her head back, letting it cover her sigh. Zen’s too used to her habits, too used to these useless teas, and he sees it for what it is, for what the deep set of the lines on her face mean. 

How strange it is, to see someone suffer in paradise. 

“Are you feeling better?” he asks, as he always does – it is the one thing Izana will ask after, catching him on the hall to some appointment or another, is Mother feeling recovered? Her answer is always the same.

“I feel quite well,” she tells him in her mild way, fond smile curling her lips. “As I have since I was rescued. I promise, I am not covering for any foul treatment done by our kidnappers.”

He hums, feigning agreement. “You know how Izana is. He wants to make sure you’re safe.”

“I am safe as I am anywhere.” She takes a sip of tea, eyebrows raised. “Surely you do not think I am some stranger to abduction? Why weren’t we both --”

“I don’t remember,” he lies, heat creeping up his neck. He doesn’t need to be reminded of the time they nearly both were carted off to Sama when he was hardly old enough to hold a knife. Gods know, Izana remembers it enough for the both of them. “I was very young. But I’ll take your word for it, Mother.”

“I understand Izana’s caution,” she says after a moment. “But I’m afraid I still do not understand why he feels I should be kept at Wistal. After all, my allergy…” She gives a theatric sneeze.

Zen’s mouth pulls flat. He knows – it is the same reason Izana has kept him here, all these years. They have a chronic habit of loving inappropriately; a condition his brother thinks can only be cured through quarantine and distraction.

For once, Zen hopes he is right.

“Well,” he starts, dropping his serviette as he stands. “Tea was lovely, as always, but –“

“You must get back to business.” She smiles, too knowing. “A man cannot run a country by himself.”

No, but he can certainly send his brother to distract their mother alone just fine.

Annoyance spikes in him. It was Izana’s grand idea to bring her here, but now it is solely Zen’s duty to entertain her, to keep her mind occupied on top of all his other duties. As if he has no other, more pressing work than to make sure their mother --

That their mother was not spending her days, forlornly gazing north, as she was right now. He sighs, fingers tapping at the table.

“I’m sure another letter from Shirayuki will arrive soon,” he offers, desperate. “It’s been a few weeks.”

Mother smiles, faint. “That would be nice.”

“You seem to be getting along well,” he adds. He had never thought about his -- his someone having a significant relationship with his mother, not when he barely had more than a fondly cordial one himself, but it was...nice. Izana’s doubts had made his own blossom, but his mother’s approval...

Well, it was nice not to be alone in this, for once.

“She’s a lovely girl,” his mother agrees. “She’s giving me some wonderful advice about how to fix up this garden of mine.”

He glances around, unable to find any obvious change, but nods. “I’m...glad. I’ve always found her to be...”

“Special?” his mother offers, when he cannot find the word. “I agree. I like her quite a lot, and it would be...” Mother hesitates, as if trying on the words, to see if they might fit. “...most pleasing to me, if we were to grow close.”

For once, the knot in his chest eases. “That would please me too.”

She hums, a smile lingering about her lips. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be?”

“Oh!” He coughs, trying to cover his flush. “Right. Yes. I -- I will see you soon.”

“Tea tomorrow,” she reminds him.

“Right, yes.” He nods. “Tea tomorrow.”

He reaches for the door to the castle, only to have it jump from his hands. He looks up startled, and meets wide amber and slit pupils.

“Obi?” It’s not fair to meet him this way, when he’s at the bottom at the stairs and Obi’s at the top. He’s tall enough as it is.

“Master!” Shock melts to a sly smirk, mouth rucked at one corner. “What a pleasant surprise!”

“I’m the surprise?” he shrills. “Aren’t you supposed to be in Lyrias?”

His eyes dart to one corner, the picture of innocence. “His Lordship had reports he needed delivered to Sir Zakura, and he said I was his fastest messenger.”

There’s a boast in that, but there’s no refuting that Obi moves faster than a man should be able to on the roads. It’s best not to think about; things like that can keep a man up at night. “That doesn’t explain why you’re here. At my mother’s private garden.”

“Ah!” Obi lifts a hand, rubbing at the back of his head. “Yes, well…Miss sent me with a letter too. Said I should deliver it personally.” He smiles, sheepish. “You know how she is.”

Zen nods. “Good, I think my mother could use the good news today. She’s been a little listless since the last.”

Obi’s mouth quirks at the corner. “Oh, I’m sure this will put her in a chipper mood.” He winks. “Don’t you worry.”

Mother doesn’t call him for tea the next day. It worries him for a while – she had been so out of sorts, after all – but Obi distracts him before he heads back north, taking him out for street food in the city and drinks and not returning him until the night shift has already started. By the time he receives the invitation the next day, Zen’s feeling steady enough on his feet to chance it. Besides, tea has always settled his stomach.

At least, that’s what he thinks, up until he sees his brother lounging at the table, long legs spread out across the brick like a brag.

Zen stomps across the garden, dropping himself down into the chair next to him. “What are you doing here?”

Izana holds out a hand, as if encompassing the garden without moving a finger. “Mother invited me.”

“Mother always invites you,” he grouses, “you just never come.”

“Well,” Izana hums, “today she especially requested my presence. So I have come.”

Zen takes in a breath, but when he goes to speak –

“Good,” Mother calls out, tremulous smile on her lips. “You are both here.”

“Of course,” Izana says smoothly, smile just curling his lips, “I come when you call, Mother.”

Zen stares. Honestly.

Mother smiles knowingly. “How kind of you.”

Izana’s eyes narrow. “Is something --?”

“I only wished to let you know,” Mother pushes out, as if every word was an effort. “That I will be marrying Mukaze.”

“You can’t just let this happen,” Zen blurts out when Mother has left. “You can’t just let her --”

“Perhaps you did not notice, darling brother,” Izana drawls, staring at his nails. “But Mother did not ask.”

“But you’re the king, you can just --” be high-handed, like always –

“I could.” He drums his fingers against the glass, parum-pum-pum-pum, the only part of himself he allows to move. “But I think you will find that will not stop her. We would only find a cold bed and a rope of bedsheets out the window.”

“She’s on the first floor,” Zen offers mildly.

“Then maybe she would leave a note,” Izana allows. “The point is, I may be the king, but she was once queen, and there’s hardly a court between here and Viande that would not give her sanctuary.”

“But Mukaze is a fugitive in Tanbarun!” he presses, hoping his brother has forgotten just how he came by that knowledge. “And an exiled nobleman to boot. Surely King Shenezard –“

“I am aware of just what King Shenezard will think about that,” Izana cuts in. “This is not about stopping Mother. We can’t. It is about mitigating the damage.”

“You can’t just --”

Izana holds up a hand. “There is nothing I cannot do brother. And if making this disaster of a marriage into something feasible is what Mother wants, then it is what will be done.” He hesitates, and says, softer, “It’s what she deserves.”

Zen frowns. “I don’t understand.”

Izana stands, a wistful smile at the corner of his lips. “Good. Then I have done one thing right.”

Despite how he argues, not a single ear will listen to reason. Not his brother, not his mother, and – most surprisingly – not Haruka, who merely waves him away and asks him if he does not have something better to do with his time. Zen can’t countenance it; for years he’s been all but forbidden from making Shirayuki his wife, told that she needs to prove herself –

And now his mother is going to marry her father. The mountain vigilante.

Time marches onward, and in all too short a measure, Zen find himself waiting at the Starlight Gate to received their illustrious guests. They have come from all over – dignitaries from Viande, from Ivora, from Sama, even Ambassador Prak, who offers his mother the most heartfelt of congratulations from Her Most High herself. It’s not until the last day that the visitors from Lyrias arrive, a great party that is a dozen carriages at least, full of half the most powerful players in the North, all come to see their queen remarried.

It is no surprise that Haki alights from one of the first carriages, Makiri’s arm looped in hers. Mother greets her warmly, a kiss on both her cheeks.

“You look well,” Mother gushes. With a sideways look, she adds, “Doesn’t she, Izana?”

His brother looks fit to choke, but he covers it well, his expression warm as Mother passes his fiancée to him. “Of course. You look radiant as always, Mistress Haki.”

He lifts her hand to kiss it, earning him a warm look in return. “His Majesty is too kind.”

“Perhaps,” Mother wonders aloud, as Haki is passed on to Zen, “we might look forward to a double wedding this week.”

Haki’s pale face flushes vibrant red, and Izana looks much the same. “Mother –“

“I am merely speculating,” she says easily, turning to the next guest. “After all, you don’t seem to know how to end an engagement –“

“Mother!”

“Oh look,” she gushes, turning her back to them. “It’s Duke Rodatrad.”

Mukaze comes not in a carriage, but on horseback, flanked by the whole of the Mountain Lions. They are, at least, well-dressed; still, Izana looks nearly faint at the prospect of his mother’s husband’s impropriety.

He sweeps off his horse, up the steps until he can hold Mother close to him, no air between them, and –

“Yuck,” Kazuki groans, echoing the sentiment of both royal sons. “Yuck.”

Itoya reaches over, cuffing the back of his head. “Be respectful.”

Kazuki frowns, but relents with a much quieter, “Gross.”

It is of course the carriage he is waiting for most that is last. Shirayuki sways down the steps, smile bright, if tremulous, and accepts the embrace his mother offers. Obi stays a respectful distance back; he’s not a guest, per se, but a guard.

Zen wants to rush to greet her, to hold her as close as his mother does, but –

“Dear sister,” Izana drawls, pulling her into his arms. “I’m so pleased that our families are finally joining.”

“T-thank you…brother,” she murmurs awkwardly as she steps out of his embrace. “I’m…glad for it, as well.”

It is midnight when someone rouses him, one of Izana’s personal staff that urges him to don appropriate attire and meet at the Poet’s Gate. Zen knows better than to balk, though he does grumble as he fumbles with his pants, nearly knocking over the lamp on his beside table.

He makes it just in time to stand alone on the portico as the carriage arrives, unmarked and pitch black, blending in with the night. It’s an effect rendered wholly unnecessary the moment its occupant opens his mouth.

“There now, Sakaki,” Raj crows, far too loud, as he spies Zen’s shocked face. “Did I not tell you we would be the best surprise of all?”

“Of course, Your Highness.”

“It would be better,” Izana drawls, unfurling from the shadows, “if you were the best secret as well.”

Against all odds, Raj pinks in the moonlight. “O-of course! No one is as circumspect as me! Isn’t that right, Sakaki?”

Izana’s disapproval is so weighty, not even the prince’s manservant dares break it.

“Come then,” he says finally. “Let us go to my office and settle this.”

“There is of course, one formality that must be take care of before the…festivities may begin,” Izana says, fixing his gaze on Mukaze, who bears it as well as any man could. “You may have been a vigilante for the past two decades, but you were a lord’s heir once. Certainly you are not insensible to what must be done.”

Mukaze eyes him. “I certainly have a few ideas about what you may be asking.”

“Your claims in Tanbarun,” Raj interjects nervously. “You must relinquish them.”

His eyes narrow. “I was already disinherited. I don’t see what I have to --”

“Both of you,” Izana says calmly, his gaze sliding to where Shirayuki sits beside her father. She stares at him, wide-eyed, and oh, how Zen wants to go to her, wants to tell her –

“It’s up to you, kid.” Mukaze looks down at her, eyes soft in a hard face. “I’m not getting that title. But you could. It’s your future.”

He doesn’t hear it, but he sees her lips move as she lays her hand on his arm. Dad.

“I don’t want it,” she says, so soft. Her fingers grip tighter. “I don’t know that life. It’s not mine. This is.”

“Kid --”

“Be happy, Dad.” His hand lays over hers. “I just want you to be happy.”

“I will,” he promises, watery. “What do we need to do?”

Raj snaps, and Sakaki lays out an official-looking document on the desk.

“Sign this,” the prince says. “It relinquishes your claim and the claim of both your issue.”

Shirayuki frowns. “Issue?”

“Children,” Raj manages, awkwardly. “And grandchildren. And so forth.”

She hesitates then, but –

“It’s all right, kid,” Mukaze says. “You don’t have to –“

Her name scrawls across the page, aggressive and bold. “Done. There isn’t anything to miss.”

Mukaze reaches out to her, her hand clasped in his. “Shirayuki –“

“And now that that business is done,” Izana begins, stepping around the desk, paper in his hands. “It is my duty to give you this.”

Mukaze takes the scroll in his hand, breaking the seal. His brows furrow as he reads its contents. “What is this?”

“Think of it as a wedding gift,” his brother says, smile lurking at the edge of his lips.

Mukaze stares, as if the words no longer make sense. “Is this…?”

“The rights to land along the Tanbarun border, as well as the parcels contained therein.” Izana shrugs. “The incomes are nothing to be too excited about, but I doubt you are over-concerned with that, Earl Orundel.”

“Earl,” Mukaze breathes. “You want to make me an earl.”

“No, you are an earl.” Izana’s mouth twitches into a smirk. “I know, it is a demotion after margrave, but –“

“What do you want?” Mukaze demands. “This can’t – you can’t –“

“Mukaze.” Izana lays a hand on his shoulder. “My mother cannot marry a common man.”

“He never was,” Mother murmurs, catching Mukaze’s hand in hers. “He has always been more.”

“Of course.” Izana’s face grows soft, looking at them. “But this is not about the content of his character, but politics. You know you must accept this.”

He scrubs a hand down his face. “I know. I know.” He takes in a deep breath. “Fine. Earl it is.”

It’s a bad idea, he knows, but – Obi catches his elbow in the hall, and winks, says, come on, Master, you need a drink –

And then he’s stumbling through the garden, alcohol buzzing through his veins, making his thoughts too loud, drowning out the words that Mitsuhide says, Kiki’s sharp answer –

“Oh well, you know His Majesty is happy,” Obi’s voice cuts through the noise. “You should have heard him when he first saw. I’ve always wanted a sister.”

It’s not thoughts that buzz through him but anger – this isn’t fair, it’s not, not when he’s waited so long, been so patient –

His gaze swings up, sees lights on, and –

And he’s tired of being so dutiful.

“Zen.” His brother only manages to summon mild surprise. “You’re here. And…intoxicated.”

“I’m not,” he snaps, the slam of the door punctuating his sentence. “Intoxicated, I mean. I’m here.”

“Clearly,” Izana drawls, eyebrows raised. “Though to what purpose –“

“You know what purpose,” Zen spits, the anger nearly choking him. “You told me – you said for years – that you couldn’t just – just – hand respectability to Shirayuki, that she had to prove herself. And then to her father, you hand a county!”

“And all its constituent titles and parcels, yes.” He settles back, far too comfortable. “Is there a point you wish to come to?”

“You didn’t want me to marry Shirayuki!”

He expects the accusation to slap, to make his brother recoil in confrontation, but –

“I never made a secret of that, brother.” Izana stares at him like he is the one being confusing. “She had no title, and no contacts. When she arrived here, she had no known skills, and was fleeing her own country for defying its prince. And you wanted me to make her a princess.”

“Shirayuki is a good person –“

“Of course she is,” Izana agrees, derisive. “But you could not have known that, not truly, in less than a month. And all the good intentions in the world would not give her what was needed to become a contender for your wife.” He looks at him. “It is not our lot in life to marry for love, but for Clarines.”

“She would be good for Clarines --”

“Perhaps.” He doesn’t sound convinced. “But would Clarinese have been good for her?”

The question catches him off-guard – he’d never thought of that, of what it would mean for Shirayuki to be his wife –

But that wasn’t the point.

“And Mukaze is good for Clarines?” He huffs, barely able to breathe through his rage. “And now that she is his heir, that she’ll one day be --”

“If you were paying attention, she is Viscountess in her own right.” Izana eyes him, disappointed. “But are you asking if now she would make for a good match? A viscountess would be too low, even for a prince, but an eventual countess – yes. I would have considered it.”

“Then --”

“But brother cannot marry sister,” Izana remind him. “Lest you have forgotten our laws.”

“We aren’t --”

“In every way that will matter, you are.” He sounds almost…sad. “Even if I wanted to, I could not give my blessing now.”

“All these years, and you just – just hand a title to her father, to what? Play with me?”

“Play with you?” Izana stands, looming over him. “Do not dare put this on me, brother. You could have married her at any time, had you done what mother did.”

Zen laughs, not kindly. “Just tell you it was happening? I would have love to have seen --”

“No.” Izana’s face is cloudy. “Been willing to risk your title on your herbalist girl. But you never dared.”

There is nothing he can say to that.

“I had always wondered if you would,” Izana admits, sitting down. “But in the end, it doesn’t matter. You cannot, not now.”

Anger has burnt the alcohol from his veins when he reaches the gardens outside the west wing, The windows are dark in the rooms – Mitsuhide and Kiki might be sleeping, but Obi is still out prowling, he assumes. Shirayuki turned in early, just after dinner.

He finds a rock, large enough to fly true and small enough to not leave evidence. He throws it, wishing there was some wind to pick up his cloak dashingly in the moonlight when it raps against her window.

It takes eight for her to actually come.

“Zen?” she murmurs, sleepy eyes opening wide. “What are you doing here?”

“Come down,” he says beseechingly. “I wanted to see you. To talk.”

She hesitates, then nods.

It’s been months since he’s seen her, and he feels every one of them in silence that settles between them. She keeps pace beside him as easy as ever, but still - still --

“This is weird, isn’t it?” he says.

She nods eagerly. “Oh, good, I was – I thought it was me.”

“No, it’s this – the marriage,” Zen says. “I almost feel like I don’t know how to act.” How I’m supposed to act.

“Me too.” A smile breaks wide across her face. “But they’re so happy. And I’m – I’m happy for them, whatever else it means --”

“Shirayuki.” He grabs her hand, pulling her back. “This is our only chance.”

“What?”

Her breath brushes against his lips, and that’s all he needs to bend down, to press his lips her hers. She surges up into him, hands clutching at his tunic, and he pulls away.

“Run away with me,” he gasps. “Tonight, before they can stop us.”

“I don’t --”

“Marry me.”

She stands frozen in front of him, stunned. Her mouth opens –

It is his brother’s voice that comes out. “What are you doing?”

[bubblesthemonsterartist]

hello my Obikiki brethren♥ i just want Kiki to flirt back ONCE to completely floor Obi and possibly ruin his whole day lmao "I was not expecting that and now I'm terrified of Miss Kiki."

Theworld is dark. Muffled. And cold.

Shiftinghis weight onto the ball of his left foot, Obi flexes his palms, slowly exhalesto calm his own racing heart, and listens.

“Mymoney is on you, Lady Seiran!”

“Puthim in the ground!”

Plantingone hand on his hip and raising the other palm down, Obi tilts his head down tocheck his nails. As if he could see them through the thrice folded fabriccovering his eyes. The crowd guffaws, some of them throwing taunts, otherspleased, depending on how they lay their bets.

Theodds are against him. After witnessing the test of Makiri’s blade to hers the day prior, confidence in him spilledfrom the spectators like the coin from their purse.

“Sendhim into early retirement!”

Obibites down on his grin. One of these days, they’ll learn. 

Ormaybe a few of them already have. 

It starts out slow. First by one, then bytwo, then by ten. Heavy boots land hard against the packed earth and gravel, thecrushing of rocks louder than all their voices raised together.

Cheats,the whole lot of them. 

“Ibelieve in you, Sir Obi!” 

“Goeasy on her!” 

Sweatprickles along the press of fabric, the taste of kicked up dirt landing on histongue. Of all the things to say; of all the encouragements to yell. He thought at least Hiro liked him.

Butunder the din, he hears the shift. She’s small. Compact. Graceful and deadly.Light on her feet and- 

Obi’sgrin grows predatory under his cowl. “Sloppy.”

Herhubris gets the better of her – always too eager to prove others wrong, too eager toshow she’s not less – and sheapproaches from behind, moving in a weaving pattern to throw him off. She just barely manages to do more than brush the strap dangling from his jacket beforehe’s on her. Torso twisting, his hand wraps around the thick leather of her wristguard, one of his boots slotting themselves between hers, and with just aslight pop of the hip-

Theelation of the crowd circling them reaches a new height, mixing with cries of despair. He would feel sorry for them, but-

ButObi lets go of her wrist, pulls the blindfold from his eyes.

-thelook of surprise on Miss Kiki’s face, eyes wide and unblinking as she stares up at him,is most certainly worth their suffering.

“Alrightdown there?” he grins, eyes already gritty from the dust.

Herface regains its elasticity, and she glares. “Sorry,” she coughs, pushing herself up to standing and brushing her pants off. He manages to bite his tongue long enough to curb the offer to help with her backside. “I can’t hear what you saidthrough that that rag on your face.” 

“Now,now,” Obi tsks, grinning behind his cowl. “You’re just mad you didn’t think you need one.” 

Around them, spectators turning on their heels, kicking up dirt as they head back to their own training. Obi squints through it after them, watching them go with an internal sigh. There were some things he started this position with thinking he wouldn’t have to teach; not leaving unnecessary tracks was one of them. But yet again, here they were proving him wrong. He was going to have to talk to Jirou about-

He almost doesn’t hear it. He certainly doesn’t see it. But his body moves, back arching, neck straining, feet squaring to stabilize his truck. 

It’s a surprise to both of them to find her fist caught in the palm of his hand. Right in front of his eyes.

Obi almost laughs. He definitely chokes. “Miss Kiki,” he manages, impressed, clenching his fingers down down when she moves to pull back. “The solution to being sloppy isn’t to get sloppier.”

She doesn’t listen. Which, considering who she had to train with in Wistal, shouldn’t exactly be a surprise. Withher hand in his, she goes for his ribs with the side of her other palm next. Sucking his stomach in, he jumps back, grunting when she manages to land a hit hard enough to knock his hand loose.

Fist yanked free, she takes a few steps back. A little thrill runs through him when she rolls her shoulders back, squaring back up. It’s a side of her that rarely sees, only coming out to play when Sir and Master and Miss are not within sight: chin lifted, clothes skewed, and hair a mess. Her wounded pride sparks in her eyes… And it is this that always makes him wonder, makes him think-  

Were she even one inch less the daughter of Seiran she tries so hard to be, just how easy might it been for her to lay down with the rogue he once was.

He shouldn’t think these things. Sir would have his head, refusal of her proposal or no. And Hisame, well, he really doesn’t care what the Vice Captain thinks.

“Is there something funny?” she asks, fists still raised like she expects him to pull a dirty trick as well.

He shakes his head. Pulls his cowl down when a single finger to offer her a grin and a wink. “I was just thinking how pretty you look on your back.”

Iflooks were a knife, he’d be bleeding out in the dirt. “You lookbetter on yours.”

“Isthat an offer?” Obi purrs, swaggering a little closer. He’s playing a dangerous game, he knows. But he just can’t help it. Not when she makes it so easy. “Ask me nicely. Maybe I’ll offer myself up.”

Her stance doesn’t loosen, but her eyes drop, scanning him from top to bottom with a slow appraisal. When they meet his again, the quirk of the eyebrow, the touch of a smirk are the last things he’s expecting. It throws him off. Enough that she drops her defense and gets in close. Close enough that when something soft presses against his arm, he looks down only to snap his eyes north again. 

Kiki is watching him, her look no less dangerous than the first but for an entirely different reason. The only blood that remains in his brain is there only to remind him of her breasts pressed up against him. The rest is making its way down to his cock, and he-

Ah, it has been too long. He must be making things up.

“If you’re so inclined, I’d be happy to prove it,” she says, close enough to his jaw that the hairs stand up on his arms. “Tonight. Here. No audience.”

Obi’s breath hitches, staring at that slow curl of pink lips, feeling the way her body presses to his arm with every inhalation, and he’s definitely, definitely imaging things.

“Obi!Kiki!” Miss’s voice breaks the moment, and guilt mixes with arousal at the sight of her at the edge of the training yard, a bag of pastries held victorious above her head. “I got there early enough to get the chocolate ones!”

“Wonderful, Miss!” he calls back, stepping away. Trying to forget that once familiar warmth of a woman against him. His skin aches in its absence, screaming at how it was only just starting to remember. “Miss Kiki made me work up an appetite!”

~~ ~

“Ow, ow, ow, owww….”

“Stop moving,” Miss scolds, prodding his bruise. “It’s only going to take longer the more you do.”

“But Misssssss,” he whines, squirming away from her cool fingers. “Can’t we just leave it this time?”

“No.”

Obi grits his teeth, staring hopelessly at the ceiling. Normally, this was the best part of his trainings. Whenever one of his men landed a lucky blow, it was their tradition for them to drag him to the pharmacy, fretting and fearful that they might have done something irreparable to his body. Or perhaps incur the wrath of Miss. He’s never told them that they needn’t worry about either possibility. If he hadn’t managed to do the first then it was impossible, and the second- Well, he never failed to draw Miss’s fire to him and him alone.

“What were you and Kiki doing anyway?” she asks, her hands leaving his skin for a moment. To his utter mortification, he makes a soft sound of loss, but she thankfully doesn’t seem to hear it.

“Just!” His explanation breaks out into a gasp, back arching when she lays something cold against the bruising. Her fingers lingers as she spreads the salve that smells like lemongrass and her. “Just sparring.”

“Mm,” Miss nods, her cheeks a little flushed. “Kiki keeps promising to teach me self defense, but I don’t know…”

Ah, that is not an image he needs in his brain. Not ever, but especially not today. Not with a single catch of flint to stone, Miss Kiki had lit him up so easily. He would’ve preferred going to his room to alieve the issue before going to the pharmacy, but Miss Kiki had grinned around her pastry, tongue picking crumbs from her lips, and casually informed Miss that she may have cracked a rib.

“Do you think she’ll be gentle with me?” Miss asks, eyes a little glazed as she presses a poultice to his side. “If I take her up on it, I mean.”

Obi can’t stop himself. He groans, turning away and hiding his face in his hands.

“Obi?” she starts, keeping her hand on his ribs to hold the herb pack in place. “I’m sorry! Did that hurt?”

“I’m fine,” he manages, face muffled in the scratchy bedding. “But I’m sure Miss Kiki would take very good care of you.”

Praise to all the gods he doesn’t believe in, because he doesn’t think to look back at her. For when she speaks again, he doesn’t think he’d be able to stand knowing what she looks like when she sounds like that. 

“I think I would like that,” she admits softly. Shyly. Then suddenly, sighing. “Do you know she has a special lotion sent from home? It’s something her mother had created so she doesn’t get callouses from her sword. Her hands are so soft…”

He’s going to die. This is his punishment. For any number of things. Maybe not murder but certainly for loving his Masters love. 

“Is that so?” he chokes. “I’ll have to ask her for some.”

“Oh, Obi!” Miss chirps. “Just get me the recipe and I’ll make it for you.”

~~ ~

Heforgets. Or that’s what he tells himself. But with the fire burning beneath his skin that has kept him half hard all day, part of him is… hopeful. To be wanted - just once - like he used to be. Evenif it simply because Miss Kiki wants to take the aggression out on him that she can no longer takeout on Sir.

So when he finds himself back at the training grounds at dusk, he tells himself that he’s just checking. Just making sure that the reports the night shift have been leaving are false. (Pick up your shit! Caro’s scrawl screamed, pinned up against his door the last three mornings in a row.)

The reports were, unfortunately, accurate.

Obi sighs, surveying the staffs and practice swords laying haphazardly on the ground. The unswept practice ring. The sweat towels piled unceremoniously in a dusty corner. And he adds yet another item to his men’s curriculum.

Grumbling to himself, Obi picks up the three bow staffs closest to him, intent on putting them back in their place when the distinct sound of a blade being whetted sings not five feet away. 

His knives are already in his hands by the time wood clatters to the ground.

Miss Kiki doesn’t look up, through. Legs spread and sword laying between them, her eyes follow the length of it, the movement of her hands as she slides them slowly. Casually. Obscenely. Up. And down. And up. And down again.

“Obi,”she finally says, and his mouth clicks shut. Under torchlight, the cut of her cheekbones are sharp as the blade she treats… so well. “I’ve been waiting.”

“Uhm.” He’s really so eloquent today.

“Allthis time you professed how you are trying to be a gentleman.” Her lips curl in a slow grin,hand drifting in a slow caress down the hilt of her blade. Sweat beads athis hairline when the tips of her fingers pause against the dark leather, nails briefly biting into it. “But I knowhow you really are.”

Herthumb sweeps over the base and he swallows. Hard. 

Kiki’s hands are really soft, Miss had said. He should’ve asked how soft.

“Remember,Obi.” She watches him from under her lashes. “You shouldn’t keep a lady waiting.”

Obican’t fly fast enough.

————–

She’sthe first one in the office.

Shirayukistumbles into the pharmacy, rubbing the sleep from her crusty eyes. Last night was cold. Too cold to sleep, especially after her burner gutted out sometime in the early hours of the morning. Doubly so when she crept to Obi’s room, trying to steal some of his warmth, only to find his bed empty and cold.

She hadn’t wanted to come in early for once - all of her projects were relying on others at this point - but at least it is warm here. The burners have been running all night, climate control being worth the expense to funding, and Shirayuki shovels another handful of coal on top of the dwindling fires. A blast of heat rewards her diligence and some of the ice under her skin melts. 

Where was Obi last night? she wonders, pulling the curtains open to let stark winter light fill the room. Every time she’s needed him, he’s always been there. Save for when he left to go help Zen, but she had been expecting the silence then. The cold. The uncertainty of not knowing where he was or if he was okay.

But maybe- maybe he was just fine. Maybe he was with that girl. The one she caught him with when Zen was here. He said he wasn’t interested, she knows, but- 

But people change their minds all the time. And she’s never seen him with anyone else. She knows how easy it is to feel lonely. To wish for- for someone’s hand to hold. For someone’s heart under your ear-

Shaking her swirling thoughts into an attempt at stillness, she ties off the curtains and moves on.

It’snot her business what he does in his free time. She wouldn’tmake him the Mitsuhide to her Zen. Not that Zen forced Mitsuhide’s hand, of course. But shewants Obi to have a life independent of hers. It would be nice to see him happy. To be married, even. Maybe even- even kids.

Really. She swears that is what she wants.

Pain registers, sharp, and Shirayuki yelps.Bringing her fingers to her lips, she glares down at the flame innocently flickering up at her from the workstation. Pulling the abused skin from her mouth, she gives them a quick appraisal. They’re red where the fire licked her, but nothing too bad.

Still, it would be best to- to get away from more delicate instruments. And treat her own injury before Obi noticed - as he most certainly would. If she left it untreated, the fretting would be endless. Just countless reminders about how aware of her surroundings she needs to be. How careful. What would Master say if I didn’t take care of you?

She needs to stop thinking about this. About him.

The doors to the supply closet swing open easy, and she takes only a single step in before, in the shadows, the light catches on two golden eyespeering at her from low in the dark.

Shirayuki screams, feet leaving the ground. Twisting in the air, she grasps for something to grab hold to, fails, and unsurprisingly her landing doesn’t stick. The moment her ankle turns, she twists, falling towards what is likely going to be a really bad spraign when an arm bands around her middle, jerking her up mid fall, another hand covering her mouth.

Shirayuki’s eyes widen.

“Shh!” Obi’s eyes are as wide as hers, dragging her back into the closet and closing it behind them.

“Obi!”Shirayuki says, muffled against his palm. She jerks her head back and tries again, “Obi, what are you doing in here?”

He gestures frantically for her to lower her voice, and in the light seeping through the cracks in the door, she can see the way his hair is mussed, face flushed, and clothes crumpled.

Shirayuki’s face burns at the thought thathe might have- might have brought someone here. That she might have caught him. The fact that she sees no one means little.

“Obi,”she tries again, touching his arm. Beneath her fingers, every single muscle bunches up and she draws back, stung. “Were you hereall night?”

“MissKiki.” His eyes are wide, panicked when he looks back to her. “I don’t know- I think she might wantto kill me.”

Shirayuki blinks. Then stares. Slowly, the lines connect the dots and her worry dissolves into memory like a wisp ofsmoke. “Are you drunk?”

“No!”

“Stoned?”

“No!”

Those answers were far too guilty. Far too fast. But- she sniffs- he doesn’t smell of liquor. Or the horriblesmelling herbs that are far too popular in the northern territories. But thenagain, she’s taught him all the ways to cover it and he is in the storage closet.

“Thenwhy weren’t you in your room last night?”

Hisface grimaces from guilt and she prepares herself for the excuses. For the explanation that it was all Kiki’s idea. Or Makiri’s. Or his men’s. “Was it cold?” he asks instead.

“Iwas fine,” she lies through her teeth. “Just worried.”

He winces, voice dropping low. “I’m sorry, Miss.”

Guilt churns in her own belly and she- she’s really being far too unfair. “You know,” she begins, quiet. Uncertain of how she’s going to say this, but certain that she might die from saying it. “I’m not stopping you from-from having fun. You can always bring someone back to your rooms if- if that’s what you want.I don’t mind.”

He stares at her as if she’s grown another head. “I-” He laughs, high pitched, mouth offering nothing more than that.

“I mean,” Shirayuki rushes. “I don’t want you to think that you have to find a storage closet if you wanted to- to- uhm-”

“No!” Obi barks, far louder than she ever was. He’s shaking his head emphatically in the negative. “I was here all night! Alone!”

Her face must show just how much she doesn’t believe him, because she is suddenly subjected to a fountain of words. Words that make less and less sense the more he talks and Shirayuki can feel the sigh rising up in her before she squashes it down.

“Obi,”she interrupts, right when he’s starting up on some yarn about how Kiki appeared in the shadows like some lustful succubus. “I know you don’t lie often, but you really do need to try harder than this.”

His jaw drops. “Miss!”

“I’ve got work to do,” she says, shaking her head and walking back into the pharmacy. “Whatever bet you loss, just pay her and be done with it!”

“ButMiss!”

The door shuts in his face.

[veneataur]

Whumpmas day 9

Fandom: Original work

Prompt: Severe infection

Title: Nothing by Halves

She wakes coughing, hurting, and overly warm. It’s not new given the nasty cold she’s had for the past week. She thought she was over it though. The fever had been gone for a couple days but now it seems to be back. When another coughing fit hits, her head spins and aches. She moans, curling around her chest to ease the ache that’s set in there.

“Evie?” Marla’s voice is quiet and concerned as she enters the dark room. It’s mid-morning outside, but it’s the weekend and she wanted to give Evie more time to rest. Between the coughing, fever, and nausea, the cold had taken a lot out of her. Usually, Marla would’ve had a hard time getting her to stay in bed rather than the couch, but Evie hadn’t put up much of a fight.

When she doesn’t get a response, Marla turns on the desk lamp and goes over to sit on the edge of the bed next to Evie’s curled up form. Her friend is breathing heavily, still with that rasp that had her concerned during the last week that the cold was something more than just a cold. But then her fever had broken and Evie seemed to be getting better, if not for the cough and breathing.

“How’re you feeling,” Marla asks. She checks to see if Evie’s fever has returned with a hand on her forehead. That’s enough to wrestle Evie out of whatever stupor she was in and she uncurls a little to look up at Marla, eyes glazed with fever. “Your fever’s back.”

“Hurts,” Evie says, voice low and weak.

“What does? Your chest? Your head?”

“Both.”

“I’ll get you some ibuprofen and juice. While I’m gone, keep this in your mouth.” Marla takes out the thermometer and sticks in Evie’s mouth without waiting for her to respond. When she comes back with the pills and juice, Evie hasn’t moved. The thermometer reads 102.4.

“You’ve got a fever again, Evie.” Marla brushes aside some of the stray hairs from Evie’s forehead. Her friend moves towards her hand, apparently enjoying the coolness compared to her burning body. “Let’s get you sitting up a bit so you can take these pills and drink your juice. Then I’ll let you go back to sleep. Okay?”

Evie nods and uncurls a little and tries to get up but stops suddenly and Marla sees her face pale. She collapses back to the bed with a groan, eyes clenched closed tightly.

“You going to throw up,” Marla asks, already reaching for the bucket.

Evie shakes her head lightly.

“Okay. You got a headache?”

She nods, adding, “Dizzy. Ears hurt.”

“Your ears?”

“They’re full. Like a balloon to pop.”

“Ear infection then, probably.” Marla sighs. Given Evie’s track record, she shouldn’t be surprised, but faced with it now, she’s feeling overwhelmed. It’s already been a hard week with balancing her work and being around to look after Evie. Nate and Chuck have both been around to help when they can, giving her time to rest and run errands.

“Alright, then. You need to sit up a bit to take these pills for the fever and pain and drink some juice. Chuck’s coming by soon with some food. He can help us get to convenient care.”

“No, just want to stay here.” Evie coughs roughly, curling up as she grabs at her chest.

“No, you need to see a doctor. You probably need antibiotics to help with your ears so you don’t lose your hearing. Now, come on. The sooner you sit up, the sooner you can lay back down and get some sleep.” Marla doesn’t give Evie much time to argue. She gently helps her sit up a little, handing her the pills and then holding the cup of juice to her lips so she can take sips. When it’s clear that Evie can’t stand to sit up like this much longer with the mounting pain and dizziness, Marla sets her back down, resting her head on a pillow and pulling the covers back up. Evie’s eyes are closed and she doesn’t say anything more to Marla, but Marla does see the relieved look on her friend’s face.

“I’m going out into the living room for a few minutes to take care of a few things, but I’ll be back. Okay?”

In the living room, Marla gives Chuck a call. They’d become friends over the last couple of months, bonding in part over their friendship with Evie and concern for her well-being. The woman had a terrible habit of leaping before looking, which hadn’t been completely trained out of her by the company’s training.

“How soon are you able to get over here,” Marla asks, bypassing a normal greeting.

“Why? What’s wrong?” Chuck goes immediately into concerned mode.

“She has an ear infection now and can barely move without getting dizzy and hurting.”

“She needs a doctor.”

“Yeah and I’m going to need some help getting her to convenient care.”

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll send a doctor over.”

“We can’t afford a doctor who makes house calls. Just help me get her to convenient care.”

“Marla, do you think she’s going to be able to make it there without being in so much pain that she’s miserable, maybe even passes out?”

“What other option do we have?”

“The doctor is a close friend. He’ll be glad to help. This is the sort of thing that he likes doing. And I’ll take care of everything.”

“We’re not a charity case.”

“I’d never consider you a charity case. You and Evalyne are friends. If I can help you through my connections like this, then I will.”

“Fine, but we will be paying you back.”

“That’s up to the doctor. Right now, let’s work on getting Evie feeling better. I’ll give him a call and then head over. I should get there before him, but if not, I’ll text you his name and photo so you know who it is.”

The call ends shortly after and Marla goes back in to sit with Evie. Sir Trotsky follows her in, jumping up on the bed to lay down along Evie’s back. She doesn’t feel any warmer, but the coughing and pain seem a little worse. Marla helps Evie to use her inhaler, but it doesn’t seem to have much of an impact. The nebulizer is probably the better route to go, but they don’t have any more medication for it. Perhaps this doctor Chuck is bringing will be able to prescribe some. She’s not happy about having to rely on Chuck for things like this. Her and Evie knew that he came from wealth, but he didn’t act like he did. His parents hadn’t given him anything more than money for a college education, forcing him to earn his money on his own.

This really was the first time he’d shown his wealth. And while she doesn’t like having to pay out for a house call, she knows that this will be easier on Evie. Perhaps the doctor will be willing to take installments instead of the entire sum. They could afford a couple hundred today and then probably a little more than that monthly.

The doctor arrives not long after Chuck. He’s a friendly man, a little older than her and Evie. After they have the customary greetings, he asks to see Evie. He’s careful during his examination, talking with her quietly and not pushing her past what she can do comfortably. She’s quiet throughout much of it except for the occasional cry of pain, coughing fit, and noisy breathing. Save for having her sit up to listen to her breathing and to check her ears, he lets her stay curled up under the covers.

“Well, I think it’s safe to say that you have a double ear infection, Evalyne. Both ears look pretty bad and it accounts for the level of pain as well as fever,” he says from where he sits on the edge of the bed.

“Double ear infection? You sure don’t do anything by halves, Evie,” Marla says.

“Didn’t… mean it,” Evie mutters.

“Of course, you didn’t,” the doctor says. “The good news is, antibiotics will help. I’ll send a prescription to the pharmacy and they’ll have it dropped off shortly.”

“Oh, no, one of us can go out and pick it up,” Marla says.

“Nonsense. It’s part of my services. If a patient is bad off enough to need a house call, then surely they can’t afford to go out for a prescription and their caretaker can’t manage it either.”

“Oh, okay.” Marla can see the zeroes being tacked on to the bill at that.

“Now, about this breathing. Do you have an inhaler?”

“We tried it earlier, but it didn’t seem to do much,” Marla says. “She has a nebulizer, but the prescription ran out.”

“Well, that one’s easily solved too. Both prescriptions will be here within the hour.” He pauses a moment to enter some information into his phone, then puts it away to look up at them. “How else can I help?”

“You’ve done more than enough. Perhaps we can step out into the hall to talk about the bill.”

“Of course.” He follows Marla out into the hallway, leaving Chuck with Evie.

“I’m not really sure how to say this, but we don’t have the kind of money that Chuck does. We have no problems with paying you, but a thousands of dollars doctor bill is a little beyond our reach. If you’ll take installments, I’d really appreciate it.”

“Thousands of dollars? What did Chuck tell you about my business?”

“That you were a family friend.”

“Well, he got that right, but after this, he might need to reevaluate his part in that. Marla, my costs are much lower than you would normally pay at a hospital, especially if there’s no insurance involved. And this visit, because you’re a friend of Chuck’s and he didn’t explain things, is half my usual rate.”

“Oh. So…”

“Just over a hundred, but don’t worry about it right now. I’ll be sticking around for a couple hours to make sure that she’s alright.”

“Is she that bad off?”

“I’m worried about the pain and breathing issues. The fever’s a little concerning, too, but she’s still coherent. I’d rather be here if something happens than other side of town with another patient.”

“I appreciate that. She was doing better, but she has this habit of taking the worst of the given options.”

“This is hardly the worst, but it is serious. You called me at the right time that hopefully, we can get control of the infection and keep it from getting much worse.”

The remainder of the day is spent looking after Evie in turns. The medicine comes and they start the treatments. The nebulizer has a quicker effect, easing her breathing within minutes of its use. It’s not gone, but there’s less strain. The fever and pain don’t lessen much during the day, but they also don’t grow worse, which is encouraging enough to the doctor that he leaves them mid-afternoon, giving Marla his business card.

Evie, for her part, is restless for much of the day, though the ease in breathing does help her to rest a little. Eventually, despite the pain and fever, her body gives into sleep. It’s no more restful until her fever breaks the next morning and she finally falls into a restive sleep.

[hanzo-shimadacree]

Keep you safe

Chapter 1

Running fast, lungs burning from pushing the limits, a German man ran through the high

grasslands from a shadowed figure coming after him. The moon was full and at the peak of the

crystal night sky as the two figures cut across the fields. As soon as he ran into a clearing, he

cursed under his panting breath, scanning for any place to hide, but no such luck. He turned

around just as the figure tackled him to the ground, the figures hand pushed his face to the

ground and he yelled in pain as a pair of sharp canines pierced his jugular. His hands scrambling

around, praying to find something at his disposal.

He had forgotten that he left his glass etcher blade in his pant pocket and quickly reached

for it, blackness circling his vision from blood loss. He took the handle of the small blade and

stabbed it to whatever felt like the creature on him. It screeched in pain, it’s blood spilling all

over the man’s face and some had entered his mouth. It fell on him, lifeless and blood pooling

around them. He threw the corpse off of him and scrambled to his feet. He swayed, dizzy from

the blood loss and fell back to his knees. He then laid down on the grass and looked up at the

sky, the moon casting her pale white glow on him as he closed his eyes and drifted into the

darkness.

Claud had woken up from his alarm going off and groaned as he shut it off and sat up,

stretching his muscles out. He sighed and got up off the bed to head to the shower. The water

rinsed the rest of the sleep and when he was done, he dried his hair and wrapped the towel

around his waist, looking at himself in the mirror. Placing his hand on his chin and felt the

stubbles on his face telling him that he needed a shave before work. As he shave, put on his nice

suit, and combed his hair, he got a glance at his neck.

The puncture scarings were able to blend in with his skin, but he can still feel it and can

see it, even if no one can. Claud shook his head and put on his glasses as he grabbed his satchel

and headed downstairs of his apartment and got on his black Kawasaki motorcycle as he rode to

work. Claud does house calls whenever he is not needed at the hospital and he was needed out in

the countryside for a small family who had an ill daughter. He sighs. “Poor girl. Alvays ill,” he

said to himself. The family there are very poor and always have a hard time finding good doctors

that would fit their budget. Claud was one of the best and had been sneaky enough to take care of

them with no charge under the radar.

He parked the bike in the makeshift driveway next to their beaten up rusted truck. The

mother was hanging clothes outside when she heard his motorcycle come in. She smiled and

walked up to Claud as he took off his helmet with a warm smile. “Guten Morgen Mrs. Kanen.

How are you and your family?”

“Good morning Dr. Ludwig. We are fine. Come inside, she’s in her bedroom.”

They walk in and sure enough, he could hear her coughing hard and it sounds terrible. He

frowned. ~If only they didn’t suffer so much~ Claud looked around. The house is old and so

broken, he worried that if the father didn’t fix it, it would collapse. He walks into the girl’s room,

his satchel containing all the items he needs during his house calls. The little girl laid in her bed,

pale and looks in pain. She looked at her door and her face lit up at the sight of the German

doctor. “Doctor!” her voice cracked happily.

“Hello my dear. How are you feeling?” he sat down beside her and started to unload his

things to give her a check-up. She groans in response and looks at his hat. He wore a dark brown

medic hat with a headset on top. The headset was always worn just in case he had to make an

emergency call for a helicopter during one of his house calls. She smiles at it and did everything

Claud told her to do during her check-up. He gave her some cough syrup to ease her throat and

had wrote down notes on his piece of paper. He gave her a pat on her head as the medicine made

her sleepy and he quietly closed the door.

“How is she doctor?” the mother asked.

“Cold, but if you had not called me sooner, it vould have been vorse. I vill get ze

medicine she requires for zis and bring it tomorrow. I have given her somezing to help ze throat

until zen.” He packed his things back into his satchel and put it over his shoulder.

“Thank you Dr. Ludwig. I made extra food from dinner to give you on the way home.”

She handed him a sealed container of food and he smiled.

“You are too kind. You and your family have strong hearts.” He gave her a hug as he

went outside and got onto his motorcycle.

“I should say the same about you. We have no money to give you, and yet you still come

to take care of us. I just hope you are careful on this.”

“I am do not vorry. Have a good day ma’am.” They waved to each other goodbye as he

rode off back to the small city. He went to order the meds at the pharmacy and went to the

hospital to do his usual routine. He checked on some patients and organized some of the files

here and there out of boredom. It was a slow day and no emergencies happened so everyone was

relaxed. No surgeries, or people dying, which made him bored out of his mine. He went into a

room where there was a nurse who was taking blood from a patient. She took the packet of blood

and waved the patient off as she looked at him. “Afternoon Doctor,” she hummed.

“Afternoon,” he smiled. He looked at the blood bag and something felt off about himself.

He suddenly felt the need to take it, rip it open, and consume the contents of the bag. He quickly

shook the thoughts out of his head as fingers snapped in his face. “You okay there sir?”

“Yes. I-I’m fine danke.”

“Maybe you should head home. You look pale.”

He decided to do just that and rode to the pharmacy to pick up the girl’s meds before

heading home. He left the meal in his refrigerator, not feeling so hungry and went to the

bathroom to put water on his face. He looks at his reflection and jumps out of his skin. His face

is almost deathly pale and his iris is almost in a dark shade of red seeping out of his natural pale

blue. Claud opens his mouth to find out that his canines are a bit longer than usual. No one

would have noticed it but he does considering that he pays attention to every detail. He lays on

his bed, different emotions circling in his head: fear, confusion, curious. He does not sleep the

whole night, worrying about what is going on with him.

[purkinje-effect]

The Anatomy of Melancholy, 11

Table of Contents Go to first. Go to previous. Go to next.

Updated 2019.01.29. (Minor name tweaks.) PTSD episode tw

Melancholy set down his coffee cup, and swallowed while he continued fidgeting with his Pipboy. Thus far nothing had spurred him to really acquaint himself with the nuances of its dials and buttons, and he sat there in the pharmacy break room skimming the lead-yellow, wrist-bound instrument’s menus in half-boredom, half-interest. The calibration of its global positioning system seemed reliable, as he presumed of its itemized annotation of the user’s vital statistics. The wrist-cuff padding contained sensitive diagnostic features which monitored the user’s vitals. Neither of these preliminary tabs of the menu seemed pertinent before. He knew his way to Concord and Lexington from Sanctuary, even on foot, and he felt more and more like the Pipboy would never correctly diagnose his critical condition from what limited scope of statistics it could scan.

There is no medical precedent for what is happening to you, Mister Carey, he told himself with a wry disinterest. I simply know you’re falling apart.

The third story bathrooms still had one in-tact mirror, the only left in the place he’d found yet. One page in the health section listed diagnostic returns of features he’d already learned of in this way: the device could not pinpoint what had oddly cataracted his hazel eyes, a shock of white now streaked his greying hair, and vitiligo mottled his jawline and various parts of his right and back sides where cryogenesis had, in its own way, frostbitten him. Another sub-menu in the health tab piqued his brow a moment: in the few weeks he’d worn the device, it had already inferred a rather detailed itinerary of his core proficiency and skills. On yet another sub-menu, the Pipboy let him know it knew of all the addictions he’d racked up in the same few weeks. He flipped tabs with a grunt, and bit his lower lip.

Since it seemed at first glance they required access to a terminal port for keyboard entry in order to be most useful, he skipped over tabs which looked useful for maintaining inventory invoices and for organizing correspondences. The last tab on the menu list queued up a series of local radio signals the Pipboy could pick up, and 'Choly’s hollowed eyes glazed. He set down his glasses on the table to look it over. Surely, these couldn’t be sophisticated radio stations. How could such things be maintained with the landscape as it had become? Dubious, he flicked the dial down to one whose frequency had been clearly labeled, and selected it: “Diamond City Radio.”

♫ ...and I wonder why everything's the same as it was. I can't understand. No, I can't understand how life goes on the way it does... ♫

“What kind of--” The chemist hushed himself and glared at his Pipboy as he recognized the song in disbelief. “Don’t they know... it’s the end... of the world...”

“Ah! You found some music to fill the place!” Angel stopped its skimming the cabinets to brainstorm meal plans, and came over when it heard its owner whispering along. “The tune’s a bit drab, though, don’t you think?”

The deejay came on, broken and awkward.

“Coming to you from. Ah. The jeweled green... I mean the green, the, ah, Great Green Jewel of the Commonwealth. It's... Diamond City Radio. That was Skeeter Davis. A name I still find confusing. Was I. Ah. The only one surprised that Skeeter Davis is, you know... a woman? Just. Aah. Didn't really sound like a woman's name. Ah-- anyway! Here's a real classic from good old Nat King Cole... ‘Orange Colored Sky.’ It's. It's a good one!”

“Great Green Jewel,” 'Choly repeated as the next song aired. “I wonder if this is just a recorded radio personality, or.”

“Only one way to find out, hm? Where is this Diamond City he mentioned?”

“Someplace in Boston, I’d imagine. I don’t know anyplace that was named that before the bombs fell.” 'Choly took another sip of his coffee and gave his Handy-bot earnest eye contact with its triplicate visual sensors. “Guessing we’ll have to work on becoming road ready sooner than later. It’s just dawned on me--General Atomics was working on cross-compatibility with RobCo in the years leading up to the nuclear exchange. I know the old model struggled with it, but this newer one I nicked in the vault seems capable. Let’s head into the stock room and see if we can’t interface you with my Pipboy. Update your hydraulics calibration, too. You’re far beyond overdue for maintenance, my friend.”

“Stars and garters, yes.” Angel caught up in itself. “Pardon the animation. I’ve simply... been unable to tend to my own upkeep all this time, and--”

“Hey, now,” the chemist grinned, putting his glasses back on. “You remember, don’t you, how much better I felt once I got to bathe after being frozen two hundred years? It’s your turn.”

“I-- Thank you, Sir.”

The tune of Mercer and the Pied Pipers' ‘Personality’ followed them to the next room over.

♫ ...Certain things, like sable coats and wedding rings...? ♫

+ + + + + + + + + +

♫ --The world’s gone mad today, and good’s bad today-- ♫

Like the consequence of a defibrillator, the building drew its first rasps in centuries. While the chemist had spent most of the last two weeks in an unreal soup of chems, the Handy-bot had spent the same time disinterring the back room in the first story, motivated by its recent repairs and recalibrations. Too, the second elevator’s doors on the first story appeared from behind the rubble, though like the other elevator, damage from the neighboring building’s collapse trapped it from access. Angel had shepherded its owner to do the honors, in the optimism that the effort could reinstate full electrical current to the structure. Though many lights and electronics no longer functioned from the combination of nuclear damage and centuries of disrepair, many others previously unaffected by the other floors’ breaker boxes still sprang up and brightened.

A coughing fit overtook him as the air ducts billowed bicentennial dust. The lower half of his face shied into the collar of his dress shirt.

♫ --Just think of those shocks you've got, ♫ ♫ and those knocks you've got-- ♫

“–Maybe this was a bad idea.”

♫ --and those blues you've got, ♫ ♫ from those news you've got-- ♫

“Oh, Sir! Coming right away.” Porting the tangle of bed straps its owner had tied all over it the week before, Angel rounded up behind the awkward cane-synecdoche which ascended the stairwell. “Wouldn’t you rather make use of the harness you outfitted on me? Be careful!”

♫ --and those pains you've got, ♫ ♫ if any brains you've got ♫ ♫ from those little radios-- ♫

The Russian-American had had enough of the Pipboy’s peanut gallery in the moment, and nearly punched it to turn it off. Evacuation to the second story yielded no better ventilation, and ‘Choly reclaimed the wheelchair as he took the elevator to the third story. Anxiety crawled up his body as he recognized the sounds of things inside the walls also stirring afresh. Reality had an unpleasant, rippling echo that late afternoon. Where could he find respite until the air system had evened out? Would the ancient filters yield results? He couldn’t open windows on a building with none. A flurry of draughty haloes refracted his path.

Among these dust-borne glories, he saw the operating light on the other elevator. Testing its soundness would take too long, and he didn’t know how far he could climb the stairs, either by their failing form or his failing function--he had outfitted Angel with the harness so he could ride it, but he hadn’t really practiced balancing on its back in this way, and the thought of urgency necessitating test runs only made his blood heave through his veins harder. He bit his upper lip and squirmed, throat and eyes burning, while he awaited the call button to retrieve the car.

“We left everything out in the kitchen. Dinner is ruined, though I’m sure you might have guessed that.”

“–Least of my worries right now–”

Another coughing fit silenced ‘Choly from voicing his irritation, from having tried to talk. He ground his teeth from inside his shirt and rushed inside, Angel following while he depressed the 'close doors’ button with a rapid desperation. Once shut in, he noticed cleaner air, albeit stale. He wheezed and inspected the operating panel. The elevator could no longer arrive at the first floor, but it could in theory go to the fourth through eighth. It seemed both elevators evaded the dust onslaught. Yet. Maybe…

“Are we to remain in the carriage, Sir? We can have a slumber party! Ha-ha!”

“No. We can’t just stay in here indefinitely.” As he caught his breath, he steeled himself with a sublingual Mentat from his pocket. “What all is still in your storage compartment?”

“Well!” the pale Handy replied in thought, rooting around behind inside itself, “I have your pistols and munitions. Seventy-three 10mm rounds, and twenty-six .38 rounds. A box of deviled eggs and a can of water. Your jumpsuit from the vault. Oh, and that odd cowl you took from that lass in Concord. We can stay in here a little longer, though, right Miss Sir?”

'Choly’s jaw tightened as he stared past the elevator’s wainscoting. He loathed the very notion of donning the vault suit again, even with what few foundations he now had. Paired with Angel’s verbiage glitch, he flinched at the notion, but he loathed even more the idea of staying longer than necessary inside an elevator, especially one of untested reliability.

The chemist leaned forward, and sweated pressing the button for the fourth floor. The elevator’s winch mechanisms groaned but hoisted smoothly otherwise.

“Give me the water. …And the hood.”

Angel complied, and the indicator panel announced their fourth floor arrival with a holographic voice and a bell-ding. ‘Choly panicked when the doors opened, and, frantic, he lunged at the ‘close doors’ button again. He sat, breathing heavy, with the items in his lap. The panic of having to evacuate was blooming into a recurrent theme. To the vault, as the sky threatened to fall. From the vault, as its artificial intelligence warned of impending loss of life-sustaining operations. And now, from the new home he’d begun to fashion for himself. He chastised himself for likening kicking up all this dust to the former situations which had genuinely threatened his life. Still, his head and heart throbbed, shooting pain down his left arm, and he was convinced the only way to quiet himself would be to step foot outside.

“Is… everything all right, Sir?”

The chemist motioned for his Handy-bot to can-open the water for him, and with it he doused the canvas sack hood. Moisture served to enhance its ability to block airborne particulates. He slipped it on and tucked the open can in the back corner of his wheelchair seat, under the cane beside him. The Mentats told him he had bounded upward rather than outward, and his face flushed at the mistake made in his state of alarm, but he did his best to reassure himself that entering the streets of Lexington at night stood to endanger him far worse than some musty air.

“We’re going to be fine,” he lied. “I need the 10mm. And the bullets for it.” It complied, though hesitant. “I’m just grateful there’s no apparent gas leak, Angel. Your thruster would have blown us up.”

“Silver linings, I suppose.” It failed to conceal worry in its intonation.

Melancholy opened the elevator and wheeled out to find a hall to either side rather than a lobby. Damaged fluorescent lighting flickered, and he could see several doors to either side of the elevator, as well as two across from it. Office floors, as he had predicted weeks ago. Having soaked the hood made breathing a heavier ordeal, but the barrier of moisture did as intended. Only one elevator accessed these floors, he noted, as he rolled to each end of the hall. The lone door to the left of the elevator provided access to the roof, it boasted. A breath choked him as he struggled to open the interior door, then the exterior. Angel helped once it grasped the desired effect.

Upon rolling out onto the rough paved roof and into the night air, Melancholy’s jaw slackened. Though the building tucked itself beneath the shadow of a multi-level overpass, across the way lay the Corvega assembly plant. The automotive facility’s iconic saturnesque globe and multitude of smokestacks still boasted to illuminate Lexington’s ruined cityscape. He squinted upward to see that he’d connected enough circuits within the wiring of the Walden Drugs’ pharmacy to light up the billboard sign at the top of it, as well as the sign at the front corner of its lower stories.

He sat back in his chair and caught his breath. Removing the hood, he allowed himself a dry, broken chuckle, and he quaffed at the can of water from beside him. Thoughts lost him as the stress slowly melted, but the sound of quiet commotion garnered his attention. When he looked up, he found humanoid silhouettes on the rooftop of the plant. Adjusting his glasses, he returned their gawking.

“Might we… return inside, Sir? Seems our refurbishment efforts have garnered some unwanted attention.”

“Hey, now. I don’t know if it’s unwanted yet. They might be different from those asses in Concord.”

“BRILLIANT,” one of them yelled sarcastically.

“–I,” he set his water between his knees and cupped his hands to his mouth, “THANKS.”

The group that had gathered gave him an unanimous chuckle, and he smirked to himself a bit.

“I think we’ll have dinner on the roof tonight,” he told Angel, as he turned the radio back on at low volume. The mellow, jazzy brass of Val Bennett’s ‘Soul Survivor’ greeted him, and he melted into his chair a bit with a smile. “Pass over those Yum Yums.”

Go to Next »»»

[purplemaple-xoxo]

Loving Embrace

So I actually posted something again on FF! It was a birthday present for @allisontherumorhargreeves and she said it was post worthy, so I did it! I decided to also post it here to kinda branch out a bit from just posting on FF I also have an Ao3 but I haven’t cross posted anything there yet. Anyways I hope you enjoy!!

Here it is on FF.net

Hawkeye knew that as soon as the clock above the door struck 9:00 that drab Monday morning and the Colonel hadn’t sauntered in that something was amiss. She sighed as she glanced at the large pile of urgent reports sitting on his desk, knowing they had to be at the filing office by noon tomorrow.

Hawkeye was brought out of her thoughts by the phone ringing on her commander’s desk. She walked over and picked up the phone already having an idea on who it could be.

“Colonel Mustang’s office, First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye speaking.”

“Hawkeye, it’s me.” The voice on the other end was raspy and congested. If she hadn’t grown up with the person she probably wouldn’t have recognized him.

“Colonel, is everything alright?”

She could hear a faint cough from the other end of the line before he responded.

“I’m afraid I won’t be able to come into work today. Would you be able to bring me my work?” I’m sick, please come and keep me company.

“Sir, I have Black Hayate with me..” I have the dog and it won’t exactly look professional. Riza said as she glanced over by her desk at Hayate, who was curled up taking a nap.

“Bring him with you.” Please I need you right now, the dog is no issue.

Riza looked up at the ceiling in exasperation.

“Alright, let me contact General Grumman, then I’ll be on my way after I stop to change out of my uniform and grab a couple of things.” You’re such a child.

“Thank you, you’re a lifesaver.” It’s one of the reasons why you love me.

“I’ll see you soon sir.” I love you too.

Riza hung up then turned to address the rest of the team who had stopped their work when they heard Hawkeye mention the Colonel.

“The Colonel is home sick with the bug that has been going around. He has requested that I bring him his paperwork, knowing him he’ll need my help in completing it so I’m going to take the rest of the day off.”

Riza then proceeded to call Lieutenant General Grumman’s office.

“Lieutenant General Grumman’s office, Sergeant Dave’s speaking.”

“This is First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye, I would like to speak to the Lieutenant General please.”

“Right away Lieutenant, let me patch you through.”

Before Riza could blink the General’s voice came through the line.

“Lieutenant Hawkeye, what brings you to call my office? Your Colonel isn’t here with me right now.”

“That is actually what I wanted to discuss sir, the Colonel called in due to being ill. There is some paperwork that needs to be dealt with immediately that needs the Colonel’s signature..”

“I’ll grant you the leave of absence my dear. Sounds like the Colonel needs it if he has the bug that has been going around the command centre. Give him my best my dear and you have a good day.”

“You as well sir, and thank you.”

Riza hung up the phone and started collecting her things, her sudden actions waking Hayate.

“I’ll be at the Colonel’s for the rest of the day, if you need me you know his number. Can I leave you in charge Havoc?” Hawkeye asked as she reached for the door, Black Hayate at her heels. Havoc stood up with a salute.

“You can count on me. Take good care of our Colonel.”

Hawkeye nodded and returned the salute before picking up Hayate and striding out of the office.

-/-/-

Riza knocked on her commanding officers door, barely able to do so due to her arms being full of paperwork, cans of soup, and a squirming puppy. She heard the tell tale signs of someone approaching the door, it opened slowly to reveal a haggard looking Roy Mustang. As soon as he saw who was there he turned and left the door open as a silent enter as he shuffled back into his small flat.

Riza followed him inside and closed the worn door behind her, Hayate was scrambling in her arms, too excited to explore. She placed him down and watched as he scampered over to Roy who had flopped down on his couch/bed with an overdramatic huff.

She proceeded to the small kitchen to put the groceries she procured away and headed to the living room to check on Roy. He had his right arm draped across his eyes, his other was hanging off the side, Hayate playing with his fingers. She walked over and put her hand to his forehead, immediately feeling a fever.

“You are burning up sir.” Riza sighed as she removed her hand.

“Riza, what did I say about formalities.” Even through the haze of fever and congestion his glare still contained the usual heat.

“Sorry, force of habit.” She gave him a smile as she ran her fingers through his sweat slicked hair, removing it from his warm forehead. Roy hummed as he gave in to her comfortable ministrations.

“Do you have any medicine for that fever?” Riza asked.

“Medicine cabinet, bathroom.” Roy mumbled as he gave a silent Hayate a scratch on the head.

Riza nodded as she got up and walked over to the bathroom. She opened the cabinet and sighed as she saw the lack of anything useful to treat a fever. She sighed again as she returned to the living room and kneeled by Roy’s head once more.

“I’m going to have to make a run to the Pharmacy, cough drops and tweezers aren’t exactly ideal to treat fevers. Will you be okay on your own for a while?”

“Riza, I’m a 29 year old man. I think I can take care of myself for half an hour, besides Hayate is here with me.”

“You did call me and asked to bring you soup.”

“It was a great excuse to spend time with my amazing secret girlfriend.”  

Riza just rolled her eyes, a very common reaction to Roy’s antics as she turned her attention to her puppy who had just successfully leapt onto the end of the couch and was sitting patiently.

“Keep a watch on this dork for me will you.” A small yip and huff were the response to her words. She laughed as she got up and made her way to the door.

“Be good you two. I’ll be back in an hour.”

Roy watched as Riza walked out the door, he was hoping he could spend the whole afternoon with her, but he should’ve considered at least having basic medical supplies. He put his hand to his head and cringed at the heat and clamminess he felt. He really was quite ill.

He decided to close his eyes and take a nap while he waited for Hawkeye. As he was drifting off he felt Hayate curl up at his feet. He pulled his extra pillow close to his chest as he finally allowed himself to drift off.

-/-/-

His body was too warm, his shirt was sticking to much to his skin, there was something warm surrounding his feet and he wanted it off!

Roy quickly flung the blanket off himself, and proceeded to take off his shirt and tossed it across the room. He was about to kick the warm mass at his feet when he felt it shift and make a small sound. He groggily opened his eyes and looked down to see Hayate still curled up, not being bothered by the older mans frantic actions the moment before.

He sat up and looked at his pocket watch on the coffee table in front of him. From what he could make out in his fever like state, Riza would be back in another half an hour. He slumped back against the worn couch. He looked around at his sparsely decorated flat. He already read all the alchemy textbooks in his collection  times over, and he was in no mood to read any of his political texts. That left him nothing but to do the paperwork that Riza brought him.

He pulled the coffetable closer to himself and attempted to focus on the words in front of him, he rubbed at his eyes but the words continued to blur. He felt something cold on his elbow and slowly turned his head to Hayate. The little pup sat and watched him. Roy was happy that Riza decided to take the pup in, she always seemed happier when the puppy did something cute or curled up by her feet while she read on the couch.

As he stared at Hayate longer he felt the urge to scoop the dog into his arms, but Riza’s reprimanding from the last time he overly smothered the dog came back to him. She was taking time off work to care for his sorry butt, the least he could do is not make her dog sick as well.

“But he is so damn cute… maybe just a quick hug. Hayate loves it when Riza and Fuery hug him. He’ll be okay if I give him a quick squeeze.”

“Hi Hayate, how has your day been going?” Hayate cocked his head as the Colonel continued to address him.

“Have you enjoyed living with Riza? She is taking such great care of you, so make sure you show her respect! Have you meet any other dogs your age? Any pretty dogs? You’re still young, you’ll meet someone someday.”

Hayate continued to stare at him, his tail slowly moving side to side.

“Hayate, can you come here?” Roy held his arms open as he stared at the dog with his puppy eyes. Hayate stayed unmoving, watching him with curiosity.

“Please Black Hayate? I’m not feeling well and could use a hug until your mom gets back.” Roy slowly moved to grab Hayate, but the dog stood up and took a step back.

“Please do this for me Hayate.” Roy shuffled closer, making Hayate move back against the arm of the couch, his curious expression now one of caution.

“Buraha?” Roy hoped using Riza’s nickname for him would calm the puppy enough for him to encompass him in his sickly embrace.

The two stared each other down, no one moved a muscle. They remained motionless before Roy lunged at Hayate. His face hit the arm rest as Hayate launched his small body off the couch.

‘HAYATE! PLEASE LET ME LOVE YOU!” Roy yelled with a sniff as he stumbled after Hayate.

The puppy ran around the small home, running around tables and chairs as Roy gave chase. Roy stumbled as he kept attempting to catch the dog. His fever was affecting his vision as he was barely missing colliding into the couch or slam into the bookcases. The paperwork now scattered around the floor.

“Hayate, PLEASE!” Roy cried, his breathing more and more laboured than before as he finally gave up and slumped against the wall and sat in the floor. He took a few moments to catch his breath and try to clear the spots from his eyes. After a couple of moments he looked up and saw Hayate sitting a few feet from him, his tongue hanging out of his mouth as he panted. Roy simply closed his eyes in defeat.

After a few moments of collecting their breathes Roy felt a nudge on his knee. He opened his eyes and lolled his head to the left to peer at Hayate. The puppy was looking at him with what Roy could only describe as a regretful expression.

“I’m okay boy, Just need a moment.” His voice was even hoarser than before, his breathing shallow, and he could tell his fever was higher as well.

Hayate slowly moved closer to him, apprehension clear on his puppy face. He slowly approached Roy’s hand that was draped across his abdomen and gave it a apprehensive lick, when Roy made no sudden movements the pup moved closer and rested his head on Roy’s stomach, looking up at him with big eyes. Roy smiled and slowly rubbed his velvety ears. Hayate closed his eyes in contempt. Before Hayate could react, Roy scooped him into his arms and pressed him against his chest.

Roy held Hayate close as the dog continued to squirm, using whatever he could to push off against Roy, using his small claws and teeth to get at whatever he could.

“ACCEPT MY LOVE HAYATE!”

The dog continued to squirm more, the sounds of Roy’s pleas and Hayate’s whines were so loud that they didn’t hear the front door open.

“Roy, why are you struggle snuggling my dog?”

Both Roy and Hayate immediately stopped what they were doing to look up at Riza who was standing in the hall with two medium sized brown bags in hand. The look she was giving them caused both of her boy’s to pale. Roy immediately let Hayate go and the pup sat down on the floor.

Roy cleared his throat before speaking.

“Hi Riza. How was your trip to the Pharmacy?”

“It was fine, I also got you a few other things since your medicine cabinet looked a little bare.”

“I’ll reimburse you for all of that.” Roy said as he slowly got up from his spot on the floor, he had to keep a hand on the wall for balance since the room kept spinning. He felt Riza grasp his elbow as she slowly guided him over to the couch where Roy plumped down with a huff.

He watched as Riza took the bags she had discarded on the table into the bathroom. He put his head in his hands as he felt a headache come on. She must think he is really out of it to be suffocating her dog.

“What if she breaks up with me? No, Riza would never do that over something as small as this, the fever did get to me. Besides we have sacrificed to much to even have this relationship. Dammit I hate this fever for making me doubt her love!”

Roy was brought out of his trance by the smell of broth under his nose. When he moved his hands a bowl of soup was waiting for him, along with some bread and a glass of water. He looked up to see Riza giving him one of her small smiles that he always adored. He graciously took the soup from her and began eating, Riza then deposited a couple of pills on the table before taking her silent place at his side. She put a hand on his forehead to check is temperature again and pursed her lips at having there be no change.

Roy continued to eat his soup in silence, enjoying Riza being at his side and it not be during office hours. After he was done his soup and bread he picked up the medication and washed it down with the glass of water. He ended up draining the entire glass, him chasing Hayate really tired him out.

“Care to explain what I came back too?” Riza asked calmly, Roy didn’t even realize that Hayate had taken his spot on her lap, his eyes never leaving Roy’s. Roy glared at the pup as he spoke.

“He wouldn’t snuggle with me, so I had to take matters into my own hands.” Riza just raised an eyebrow at Roy’s response, the fact that he had congestion made his voice sound even more childish.

“The house is a mess, you’ve raised your fever, and bruised your knee, all to snuggle with my dog?”

“Like you’ve never done that before.” Roy pouted.

Riza shook her head as she ran her fingers through his ebony hair.

“No Roy, I can’t say I have. This fever must really be getting to you to revert to chasing my dog around your home.”

“Yes, let’s blame it on the fever and me not missing you to the point that I associated your dog with you and took out my loving tendencies on him.”

Her smile grew as she continued to pet both her dogs.

“You really are an idiot, even when your sick as a horse.”

“That’s not funny Riza, but I’m always your idiot.”

“Come on, you better go shower then lie down for a bit.”

Roy nodded as he slowly got up, Riza remained at his side as she helped guide him to his small washroom. Before he entered he turned to Riza surprising her.

“Promise me you’ll be here when I get out?”

His question was answered with a smile.

“I promise. Now get in their and have a shower, you smell terrible.”

Before he could respond she shoved him backwards by a hand to the chest and closed the door.

-/-/-

Roy emerged 20 minutes later freshly showered, shaved, and teeth brushed. He walked to the closet in the hall and grabbed a fresh pair of boxers, pj pants, and a fresh shirt. He changed in the bathroom then made his way to the living room to see Riza organize the paperwork that he had previously knocked over.

“You feeling better now?”

“A bit.”

“Good, then you can finally do some of this paperwork.”

Roy visibly deflated as he walked over and sat beside Riza on the couch.

“I thought you said I could have a nap?”

“That’s your reward for finishing this urgent paperwork.”

Roy grumbled as he picked up an pen and a piece of paper and began working. They worked in silence, occasionally they would ask for clarification on certain sections. When the paperwork was done Roy tossed the paper down with a flourish.

“Done! May I please rest for a bit?”

“Yes Roy you can.” Riza spoke as she collected the paperwork into a neat pile.

Roy simply fell over, his upper body lying down and his legs still firmly planted on the floor.

“Roy, you should really invest in a proper bed. I’m surprised you haven’t been overly complaining about back problems.” Riza spoke as she stood up from her spot on the couch, Roy’s feet immediately taking her spot.

“I’ll get us a king size bed when we move into the Fuhrer’s estate.” Roy mumbled, his face squished into the pillow.

He felt a pressure by his feet and assumed it was Riza asking him to give her her seat back. He moved his feet slightly, but he didn’t feel the by now familiar weight of her. He felt something cold on his ankle and his eyes snapped open as he looked to the other end of the couch.

Hayate was sitting there and he delicately placed a paw on Roy’s leg. Hayate stood up and placed is other front paw beside his other paw. Roy proceeded to watch as the tiny dog walked along his side like a tightrope. He walked right up to Roy’s face and curled up on the small section of couch by Roy’s head, curling up into a small ball as he decided to take a nap. Roy hesitantly wrapped an arm around the pup, afraid he would run off like before, but when the dog stayed in place Roy tightened his grip and buried his face into Hayate’s head.

“Comfy?”

“Yes, but I wish I was holding you instead of your dog.”

“We have plenty of time for that later, now get some rest.”

Roy nodded as he finally succumbed to some much needed rest, taking comfort in Hayate’s warmth and knowing that when he awoke, his Riza would be there as well.

[twisted-broth]

United We Fall- King George III x Reader

Reader gender: female Warnings: swearing, theft, illness, violence, depression, medieval theft punishments A/n: this was so much fun to write! I may have gotten carried away a bit Word count: 3335

You made your way through the marketplace, your hood closely covering your face as you searched for something- anything- that could be good to eat. You tore down a wanted poster with your face on it as you walked passed the post that held it. Spotting a pharmacy, you walked in and headed up to the desk. "Flu medicine?" You asked quietly, making sure to keep your head bent. "High demand lately." He said. "That gentleman there just got the last of our stock." You looked to where he was pointing to see a well dressed man walk out of the store. "Thank you." You nodded and left the store, closely trailing the man. He eventually found his way down a back alley where you brought down the butt of your knife to his temple. He instantly crumpled to the ground. You stashed your weapon and got down on your knees next to him. Rooting through his pockets, you recovered the medicine and a fair amount of money. You stored your findings in your jacket and quickly left. You kept your head down as to not attract attention which caused you to bump into a firm chest. Panic set in when you saw the familiar uniform of a royal guard.

"Apologies, sir." You muttered and attempted to maneuver around him. "Not so fast, Miss l/n." He caught your arm before you could get away. "The thief? Oh no, you have the wrong person." You lied. "I don't think I do." He growled, pulling out your hand to reveal several missing fingers. "The king had been dying to see you." You grabbed your knife with your free hand and swung it at his face, leaving a large gash. He dropped your hand and you sprinted away, hoping to get back home to your sister, Arya. Before you could get a hundred feet, you were met with a circle of guards. Horrified, you saw that one of them held a sword to your sister's throat. "You let her go." You growled, your grip tightening on your knife. "She's innocent!" "Yes, but you're not." The guard said. You sighed. "Listen, she's sick. Let me give her this medicine and I'll go with you, no complaint." You held out the vial of medicine. The one with the sword nodded to another who came forward and took the vial from you. "Wait!" You fished out the money you had stolen, "This to? Please?" He grudgingly too the money and handed both to your sister. "Y/n..." she said shakily. "It'll be okay, Arya." You promised as guards grabbed your arms, knocking the knife out of your hand. "You take that stuff, you go home and you ration. You can survive, I know you can. Just until I get back. I will come back for you, I swear." "That's enough, thief." A guard growled as they dragged you away. You could hear Arya's cries as they dragged her back to your small cottage. You fought back tears as you continued walking, upholding your promise. They forced you into the castle and shoved you on your knees in front of the last person you wanted to see: King George III Though, to you, it was "just George". "Y/n, Y/n." He tsked. "We've been looking for you for quite a while now. I'm surprised you didn't flee the country entirely." "No one would take me." You growled. "Right, I almost forgot, I rule most of the world." He smirked. "I'm sure they didn't want to piss you off by taking in your runaway betrothed." You spat the word like it was poison on your tongue. You'd rather have poison than him as a husband any day, though. "No America? I would think you would love it there, with both of you hating me." "I couldn't risk taking Arya on one of those filthy ships of yours." "Arya!" It pained you to hear her name on his lips. "How is she?" "Like you care." You glared. "Well, I don't. But, I kind of have to, seeing as, I love you and you love her." He shrugged. "Funny. I would've thought you were too OUT OF YOUR FUCKING MIND TO LOVW ANYBODY." You yelled. You refrained from flinching as a guard raised his hand in warning. "That's quite enough, James. You can leave." George ordered. "My liege-" the guard protested. "Out!" He yelled. The guards quickly filed out of the room, leaving just you and George. "Now, now, Y/n," he sounded almost... sad? "You don't mean that." "I'd have to get Stockholm syndrome to fall in love with you." You hissed. "I've left your room the same. And Arya's. Oh, it'll be so great to have you back." He clapped his hands like an excited child. "I hate you." "Why? I'm lovely." Your eyes flicked around the room, focusing on anything but him. "Let's get you out of those rags and I'll have someone go fetch your sister. Guards!" The soldiers made their way back in and stood at attention behind you. "Take her to her room, find her something nice and tell the cook to start preparing dinner. Fetch Arya and do the same with her." The man from earlier- James- grabbed you by the arm and lead you up the stairs to your old room. George had never forced you to sleep in the same room as him which you were thankful for. You were unceremoniously shoved into the room and the door clicked shut behind you. You ran a hand across the f/c silk bed sheets where dust had collected in your absence. You threw open the doors of the large dresser and looked over the large variety of dresses, hoops and corsets. You sighed at the choice of garments, you had never been one for dresses. You closed the doors and flipped down on your bed, choosing to stay in your pants, tunic and cloak. There was a light knock on your door, signaling the only thing you were looking forward to. "Come in." You called. The door opened to reveal your handmaiden and best friend, Sophia. You quickly got up and hugged her tightly. "I would say it's good to have you back but..." she sighed. You laughed humorlessly. "Yeah. It's only slightly better than living on the streets." You showed her your hand which was missing three fingers. "How did that even happen? Wouldn't they have taken you back here if they caught you?" "It was earlier, when they didn't know I had left and I wasn't as good at my job." You sighed, running your opposite thumb over the jagged skin. "You got caught three times in the five hours we didn't know you had left?" She asked with a raised eyebrow. "Like I said." You muttered. "Well, we got to get you in one of those monstrosities otherwise, King Asshat'll be pissed." She said, opening your closet. "No..." you groaned, burying yourself in the silk bed sheets. "C'mon." She pulled you up. "If you make my job easier, I'll make sure your guy clothes get washed and not thrown away." She threatened, peeling the clothes off you. She lead you into the bathroom where a bath has already been drawn for you. It was still warm, it must have been drawn while you were talking to the king. You were lowered into it and you relished the warm water on your sore skin. The water quickly turned black as Sophia scrubbed the dirt off of you. "Jesus, girl." She muttered, doing her best to clean you in the steadily dirtier water. When she had done all she could do, she helped you out and dried you off, bringing you back out to your room. You compiled in mute annoyance as she loosely laced your corset and tugged on a wicker hoop and a pair of tights. She tugged a f/c dress over your head and laced it up before sitting you down at the vanity and taking locks of your hair in her hands. "My god..." she sighed, staring at all the knots. You winced in pain as she tugged them out with a comb, not stopping until your hair was a smooth as your sheets. When she was done, she went to work trying to cover all the blemishes on your face and dust your eyelids with color. She finished by adding a bright red lipstick and turned you towards the mirror. "I haven't seen myself look this beautiful in a long time." You sighed. "Just doing my job." She smirked. There was another knock on the door, this one firmer and more urgent. "Come in." You called once again. The door opened to reveal a young looking guard who just looked generally scared of everything. "The king requests your presence at dinner, m'lady." He said shyly. "I'll be down in a minute." You promised. You stopped him as he turned to leave. "Straighten up, boy. You'll get yourself killed if you go walking around like that. I should know." He nodded and left the room. "Guess you'd better get going then." Sophia said, patting your back. You stood and navigated the once familiar halls to the dining hall. You ran to your sister and wrapped her in a hug when you saw her face at the table. She itched at the lace sleeve of her dress. "Do we have to wear dresses?" She whispered, conscious of the judgemental ears surrounding you. You laughed lightly. "I'll work something out." You promised. "My love!" George called out, entering the room with a dramatic flare. You groaned and took your seat next to the head of the table with Arya across from you. George took his seat at the head as they brought in the first course. He talked your ear off throughout the first course, all the way to the entree. He talked about America's revolt and what he had planned. He talked non stop about how excited he was to have you back and how you would rule the world together. A faint smile tugged at your lips at his childlike joy. Halfway through your dinner, Arya began coughing nonstop, her untreated sickness getting to her. "Have none of you fools gotten this girl treated yet?" George bellowed, standing up quickly, knocking over his chair in the process. "Get a doctor in here, now!" Several guards sprinted out of the room as you rushed to your sister's side, trying your best to get air into her. As her coughing fit died down, the king's private doctor rushed into the hall. You moved out of the way as he knelt down beside Arya. "Come along, dear." He coaxed, lifting your sister up bridal style. "Let's get you back to my office." "I'm fine, I'm fine." She protested weakly as he carried her out of the room. "How long has she been like that?" George asked, the concern in his voice shocking you. "About a month." You sighed, if your sister didn't get professional help soon, she would die. Well, maybe living with George has some perks. He also seemed much... kinder. It was a good look on him. "I'm sorry to hear that. Hopefully, it's not too late." He said sincerely. "She's tough. She'll be fine." You promised, though you weren't quite sure yourself. "With a sister like you," he came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your neck. You flinched, but didn't move away. "She'll be fine." You sighed, leaning into his touch ever so slightly. "I hope so." ___ As the weeks passed, you were horrified to discover that you were falling for the psychopath. You talked with him more than was necessary and began to genuinely enjoy seeing him when he wasn't plotting. Hell, you had even decided to sleep in the same room as him. "What are you doing?" Arya asked as you and Sophia brought your clothes to George's room. "Just moving my stuff to George's room." You shrugged. "Why? Is he forcing you?" She asked, confusion radiating off her. You laughed lightly at her assumption. "No, he's not. I chose to." "Why?" You sighed. "As much as I hate to admit it, Arya, I think I might love him." "Are you crazy?" She whisper- yelled. "That's my cue." Sophia muttered as she took the pants and tunics from your arms and continued her path down the hallway. "I thought you hated him? I thought you were going to get us out of here?" She demanded. Her eyes drifted down to the new engagement ring you had been given, seeing as you had sold the other one. This one was just as extravagant as the last: diamonds, sapphires and rubies in a cluster on a silver band with golden flakes. "Arya, don't." You warned, predicting where your sister's mind was going. She lunged out, grabbing for the ring, her young body giving her extra speed. Once she grasped the ring in her palm, she flung it as far as she could. You heard a distant sound of metal hitting the floor. "What the hell?" You yelled, "I saved your life! Ever since mom and dad died, I've been doing nothing but saving your life! And you know what? That is exactly what I'm doing now." "I can't believe you." She growled as she turned on her heel and went back to her room. "I see someone's a little angry." George muttered as he wrapped his arms around your waist and rested his head on your shoulder behind you. You sighed. "Yeah. She's pissed that we're not leaving." "Why aren't you?" George asked, seeming surprised. "What?" You asked as you turned to look at him. "Why aren't you leaving? I thought you hated me." He shyly rubbed his arm. A blush formed on your cheeks as you realized what you had said. You didn't want him knowing that you loved him just yet. "Arya. She's still a bit sick and I want her to be safe." It wasn't the whole truth but it would do. "Of course." George muttered, his face dropping a bit. "Well, I came to tell you that I've rescheduled our wedding for next week. I got you a new tailor to make your dress. I believe he'll meet you in our room in a few hours. And I think," he pulled your ring out, "that this is yours." You smiled as he slid the ring back on your finger. "Thanks, George." "Anything for you, my love." He promised. "Now, I hate to leave you, but I must get back to planning. The battle of Yorktown is coming up and I have a feeling that it will be very important." He laid a quick kiss on your lips before leaving. You stood for a moment, shocked by his actions. Despite his flaws, he had never actually forced you to kiss him. You were even more shocked to find that you enjoyed it. Shaking it off, you went to your new room and began hanging your tunics, pants, vests and few dresses up next to George's shirts, pants and robes. Most of them were already hung, showing signs of Sophia being there previously. Once you had finished, you grabbed a book and sat on the bed, waiting for your tailor. About an hour later, there was a knock on your door. "Come in!" You called, setting the book down on the bed. A tall man came in, brandishing a measuring tape. He was well dressed, with a white dress shirt, brown pants and a brown leather tailcoat. "I take it you're my new tailor?" You questioned as you stood and walked over to him. "That I am, miss. Hercules Mulligan, at your service." He bowed. "A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Mulligan." You curtsied. "The pleasure is mine, my queen." You stood still as he began taking your measurements. "Please, Y/n will do just fine." You assured him. He hummed in understanding. "So, you're the bride to be, I take it?" You laughed a bit. "I ought to be. You are measuring me for a wedding dress, yes?" "Right, yes, of course." He nodded. "Is something the matter, Mr. Mulligan? You seem a bit... off." You asked skeptically. "Yes, I'm fine. However," you felt him drop one hand and reach towards his pocket, "I am going to need you to come with me." You elbowed him sharply in the gut before he could pull out his gun. You stepped away from him and faced him, pulling out your knife in the process. "Who is your employer and what is your objective?" You demanded. "You'll find out soon, Miss L/n. I promise you that." Before you could react, he shot you in the leg and you crumpled to the ground, a scream exiting your mouth. "Y/n?" Arya yelled as she ran into the room. "Arya, go! Run, get George!" You gasped. She quickly reviewed the situation and ran before Hercules could hurt her. He sighed. "I dealt with all the guards, but I never thought to knock out your sister. Guess we'll have to make this quick." He brought the butt of his gun down on your temple, knocking you out. ___ As you slowly came to, you recognized the familiar grey, stone bricks of the castle. Relief flooded your conscious; you were still home. You groaned as a dull pain racked through your leg. "Y/n! You're awake!" Arya cried out. "Oh thank god. Maybe she'll be able to talk to him." Sophia sighed. "George? Is he not talking? What happened?" You asked wearily as you sat up. "Okay, so, after I ran and got the king, he and all the other guards that were with him ran to get you and some went to guard the front gate. So, one way or another, they caught him. And he pretty much dropped you and ran. There's a huge bounty on his head but it seems like he made it back to America because, a few weeks later," Arya began explaining. "Wait. A few weeks?" You asked. "Yeah, a few weeks, you've been out for two months."  Sophia told you. "Fuck..." you muttered, imagining how torn up George must be. "So, a few weeks later, the Americans knew every part of our plan and beat us. We had to surrender." She sighed. "I think they were trying to kidnap you for extra leverage." Sophia offered. "Oh god, George. Help me up, I need to go see him." Arya and Sophia each grabbed one of your arms, lifting you off the cot. You carefully distributed your weight onto both legs, the bullet wound not hurting too much after two months. You hurried to his room, leaving the girls, a slight limp in your step as you did. "Good to see you awake, m'lady." James greeted as he pushed open the door of the royal chambers for you. You quietly walked in, taking in the man on the bed in front of you. You hardly recognized him. His wig and robes were off, abandoned on the ground. His curly brown locks were a mess and his white dress shirt was coated in wrinkles. He sat with his back to you, doing nothing but staring at the wall. "George?" You called out. He spun around, his sleep deprived brown eyes meeting yours. He stood up, running to you and wrapping you in the tightest hug you've ever felt. You quickly returned the embrace and felt his tears leak onto your shirt. "I'm so sorry." He sobbed, "I should have been there. I should've protected you." "Shh." You soothed, "It's okay, it's okay. I'm here now." "I love you, Y/n." He sighed. "I love you too, George." You never thought for a second that you would be saying those words. But, here you were. And you had never meant it as much as you did then.

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Good Night Sleep Tight Don’t Let the Bats Bite - Chapter 4: Rest

Good Night Sleep Tight Don’t Let the Bats Bite [Archive of Our Own, FanFiction.Net]

Characters: Bruce Wayne/Batman, Dick Grayson/Nightwing, Jason Todd/Red Hood, Tim Drake/Red Robin, Damian Wayne/Robin, Alfred Pennyworth, Original Female Characters, Original Characters,

A collection of fics about members of the Batfam and sleep. Dick’s jealous of a Pillow, Jason’s pissed at a plushie version of Nightwing, Tim finally understands how his family feels and Damian plays midwife to a horse.

***

Alfred couldn’t help, but think about everything that needed done. The floors needed vacuumed and mopped, the house needed a good dusting, the wooden furniture polished, meals prepped for his charge and his wards, inventory and a possible restocking of the food in the kitchen and medical supplies in the cave. Bruce’s latest batch of suits was ready to be picked up from the cleaners and someone had to meet with the gardener to discuss the situation with the garden. Damian needed to stick to training in the cave.

There was a knock on the door to his room. Alfred, told the person on the other side to come in, which was quickly followed by a chorus of coughs.

Bruce pushed the door open. “How are you feeling Alfred?” he asked.

“It’s just a cold, Sir. Honest. I’m perfectly fine. I can perform my usual-.”

“Alfred, you’re sick. Take the day off. The manor won’t fall into chaos, just because you take a few days off,” he said. Bruce was worried. He had never seen the butler actually sick before. He had to have been sick. There was no way that Alfred had gone his whole life without an ailment, but he usually was so good at hiding it or maybe Bruce was just too preoccupied to notice it. He frowned. “I’ll have a doctor-“

“Sir, that really isn’t necessary. It’s just a cold. I’ll take some later,” he said, resigning himself to the fact that Bruce wasn’t going to allow him to do anything at the moment, but when Bruce headed to the office, he could get out and about to at least do some of his errands. He could go to the pharmacy and then swing by the cleaners and maybe the store. He coughed again.

“Rest,” Bruce said. “I’ll come back and check on you, when I come home,” he said, before exiting.

“Once he was sure enough time had passed that Bruce would at least off of the property, he got up and sluggishly made his way to the bathroom. He went through his usual routine, the steam of the shower helping to open up his clogged sinuses. Once he was dressed, he ventured down stairs, only to find Damian, sitting on the couch in the sitting room with Titus on the ground beside him, the kitten curled up next to the beast of a dog.

“You’re not to be out of bed,” Damian said, not looking up from his book.

“Young sir, I am perfectly capable of fulfilling my duties.”

“Regardless of your opinion on the matter, Father has instructed me to make sure that you rest in order to get better. You’re a perfectly capable butler, but I prefer to do things myself than have incompetent service due to your ailment.”

Alfred was unamused to say the least. “Master Damian-“

“Return to bed. I will bring you tea shortly,” he said.

Though he was unhappy with listening to the young master, he couldn’t help the small smile that formed, when the younger offered him tea. It was a kind gesture, one he was sure that Damian was unused to and unsure of doing, probably the cause for his unwillingness to look up at him.

“Very well then,” Alfred said, going upstairs and returning to bed. Despite his drive to do something, he felt himself nodding off. After a short nap, he awoke to a cup of tea sitting on his nightstand, the cup still steaming. He took a sip and smiled. It was nearly perfect.

He sat and sipped his tea. A minute later, there was another knock at his door. “Come in,” he said.

The door opened, revealing Dick.

“Master Richard, what brings you in from Bludhaven?”

“I had a day off, then Bruce told me you got a cold, so I figured I’d drop in and see how you’re doing.”

“I’m fine Master Richard. It is just a cold. I do appreciate the concern though.”

“I brought you this,” Dick said, handing over a bag.

“Oh?” Alfred accepted the bag and peered inside.

“I know you don’t like the idea of having a TV in your bedroom, so I brought an old portable DVD player and brought up some of your favorite movies, so you had something to do.

“Thank you Master Richard. That is very thoughtful of you.”

“No problem, Alfie.”

The pair continued to chat for a while, eventually be joined by Damian. The two brothers eventually took their leave reminding, the older gentleman to rest.

“Are you sure you know what you’re going, Grayson?” Damian asked his brother.

“I know it’s been a while since I lived here, and that my apartment isn’t exactly sparkling, but I am capable of cleaning. I used to follow Alfred around all the time, when I was little,” Dick said, gathering the supplies out of the closet.

Damian gave him an unbelieving stare, before returning to his book. Dick went through Alfred’s regular routine, tidying, dusting, polishing, mopping and vacuuming. He only took a break, when he was interrupted by an amused snort.

“Maybe you should switch out that police uniform for a maid’s,” Jason said, from the entry to the kitchen, where he stood with bags of groceries. “Couldn’t be any worse than that disco bull shit you thought was cool,” Jason continued, setting the bags down on the island.

“I looked good in that suit,” Dick said.

“Sure,” Jason said with a snort. He began to pull everything out and put it away save for what her currently needed.

“You here to see Alfred?” Dick asked.

Jason nodded. “I figured I’d make him some soup, and since none of you can cook, and Alfred wouldn’t approve of you guys eating take out, I guess I’m feeding you too,” he said.

“Soup and dinner, huh?”

“So I did the rest of the shopping too.”

Dick smiled. “That’s nice of you Jaybird.”

“Yeah, well I wouldn’t want to subject anyone to your cooking,” he said.

Just then, Tim’s voice carried throughout the house. “Yeah, I’ll take you right out. Some of the topiaries just need a trim or maybe they could be transformed to a new shape, but others are a total loss,” he explained.

“What happened again?” one of the gardeners asked.

“Some people just don’t appreciate the gardens,” Tim said pointedly.

Dick and Jason both waited for it, and each smirked at the –tt- that came from the sitting room.

Tim set down a few bags in front of the stairs that went from the kitchen up the second floor near Alfred’s room, and handed a few hangers off to Dick.  “I’ll take those up in a minute,” he said, before continuing out back.

“What the hell did he buy?” Jason asked.

Damian picked up one of the bags and dug around in it. “Cold medicine, cough drops, a vaporizer, medicated chest rub, and surgical masks.”

“Surgical masks? Really? Is the replacement afraid of a little germ?”

“Alfred won’t be happy if I go in there without one,” Tim said, returning to the kitchen.

“Delicate little Drake,” Damian sneered.

“Dami, leave Tim alone. Tim, of course Alfred’s gonna worry. You don’t have a spleen. It’s kind of a big deal if you get sick.”

“You’re missing an organ? Did Croc rip it out?”

Tim rolled his eyes. “Widower stabbed me, so I had to have it removed.”

Jason nodded.

Tim pulled out one of the masks and tied it on, before picking up his bags.

Alfred was in the middle of Casablanca, when there was another knock on his door.

“Come in,” he called.

Alfred’s eyes widened slightly, when he saw Tim and his bags full of stuff.

“Hey, Alfred,” he greeted.

“Hello, Master Timothy. What’s all of this?” he asked.

“I brought you some medicine. I wasn’t sure, which one you preferred, so I brought a few, along with some cough drops, tissues, and I figured that a vaporizer would be helpful,” he said, setting the bag of medicine down beside Alfred. He plopped down on the floor, opening the box for the vaporizer. “How are you feeling?” he asked.

“I’m fine Master, Timothy. It’s just a minor cold,” he said. “It would probably be best though if you limited your time in here.”

“I’m good. I’ve got my mask, am up-to-date on my vaccinations, and since there’s been a bit of a flu outbreak on campus, I’ve been taking a daily antibiotic. I’ll be fine,” he said.

Tim nodded, before leaving to fill the vaporizer, and get Alfred some water to take his medicine with. He added the scented pads and plugged it in, making small talk while he worked.

Is there anything else that you need?” Tim asked.

Alfred shook his head.  “Thank you, Master Timothy.”

“No problem, Alfred.”

“I just wiped down that counter.”

“Get the fuck out of my way.”

“I’m not eating that.”

“Then starve. I don’t give a shit.”

Tim walked in to find Damian and Dick glaring at Jason, who seemingly couldn’t care less as he added more things to a pot on the stove.

“I need more furniture polish,” Dick said to Damian. “We’ll go pick you something up for you to have for dinner,” he said.

Damian seemed appeased by that and followed Dick out to the garage.

Tim made himself some coffee and then sat at one of the stools at the island.

The two sat in comfortable silence with a few comments and conversations here and there.

Despite the appearance of the others, Alfred was still slightly surprised, when Jason opened his door, a bowl of soup in his hands. “I doubt you’ve eaten,” he said,  “And the last thing I’d trust any of the others to do is cook,” he continued.

Alfred sat up, knowing how poor of an idea it was to go without eating, especially, when taking medicine. He happily took the bowl and spoon.

“Very good, Master Jason,” Alfred said, appreciatively. He was glad that at least one of the boys could fend for themselves in the kitchen.

Jason smiled.  He didn’t linger long, waiting until Alfred was finished and then quickly taking the bowl down to the kitchen, that way Alfred could relax and get some rest.

Alfred appreciated the quiet that followed. Stomach full, and body warmed from the soup and the medication he took, allowed him to fall into a peaceful slumber.

When Bruce returned home, he quickly made his way upstairs, dropping his stuff off in his study and then changing into some casual clothes. Once he changed, he peered into Alfred’s room, finding the butler, sleeping soundly.

He then made his way to the kitchen, where the sound of his boys’ voices and the smell of food was originating from.

“Demon, if you don’t get the fuck out of here,” Jason warned.

“Quit threatening Dami,” Dick scolded.

“Dami, quit antagonizing Jason.”

Tim smirked.

“Stop with your foolish grinning, Drake.”

“I’m not-“

“Boys,” Bruce said firmly gaining all of their attention. “Settle down. Alfred’s resting.”

The group all relaxed. “Dinner will be ready in fifteen,” Jason said.

“Go wash up,” Bruce said. “I’ll set the table.”

***

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